Easter Break
by RhondaStar
Summary: Modern AU: Bookshop owner Charles and teacher Elsie are finally dating, sharing their first holiday together in Dubai after months building a relationship. Can they navigate their way through the demons of their past to find a way to stay together for the long haul?
1. Chapter 1

_Inspired by my holiday I'm shamelessly taking Charles and Elsie with me and into an alternate universe. And I've got to admit I'm making it up as I go but it feels fun to be writing them again, albeit in a very different time and setting._

_Apologies for any errors, I'm writing this on my tablet in bright sunshine! I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

It was 9:45 a.m. Their flight was at 14:20.

She was fixing her earrings when he came into the room, he slumped down on the bed with head in hands, "Whatever's the matter?" She asked eyeing him in the mirror, "You look like you're about to be hung, not go on holiday."

"Did I tell you I have a fear of flying?"

"You said you didn't like flying, I assume you meant you get bored."

"I loathe flying, in fact multiply that, my arms feel like jelly already…"

She put down her mascara and instead went to rest her hands on his shoulders, smoothing down the collar on his shirt. "You should have said, we could have stayed in Europe – shared the driving or took the Eurostar, or even stayed right here – maybe gone down to Devon."

"England in April – it's cold and very wet." Truth be told it was their first real holiday together, discounting a couple of days in the Peak District and New Year in Edinburgh, and he hadn't wanted to dent her enthusiasm.

They'd met for lunch one Thursday (her free afternoon so no rushing back for classes) and she'd arrived annoyed at the frosty January weather and ungritted roads, and enthused about the idea of getting away at Easter for the sun. Some friend or other had been on a cruise – she knew he hated the idea of close quarters with strangers but the destination – just outside of Dubai – sounded blissful and the thought of seven days with her in a bikini by a pool seemed idyllic. So, he agreed, he let her book it all, a private villa with a beach view, and wrote her a cheque for his half.

They'd been dating just over seven months now and he was still rather amazed that she'd stuck with him. He could be a cantankerous old so-and-so, he knew that, and he had a reputation for being rather closed off and stoic when it came to relationships. His friends had pointed out for years the ridiculousness of the fact he'd had longer relationships with the books in his shop than he had with a woman.

She was everything he wasn't – kind, patient, warm, friendly. He'd known her for years of course, going on seventeen he reckoned. She'd always used his shop, he'd placed special orders for things she needed for her teaching, obscure history books, and they'd always chatted, passed the time of day. Then his mother – a rather overbearing Violet – had passed and suddenly the reins of the bookstore were his, he could do as he pleased. He was rooted so it took some time, painting the walls a fresh coat of white rather than the musty old grey had been his first step. And she'd been the one to encourage him to go for seating – a couple of armchairs perhaps, maybe a small table by the upstairs window to catch the afternoon light.

And he'd done it, because she'd suggested it.

At the time she must have been going through her divorce, but of course he wasn't to know that, but he did notice her visiting more often, sneaking in coffee and making use of the small upstairs table to sit and read in peace.

He noticed the white band around her finger when she came to pay one rainy afternoon, must be two years back now, and their fingertips had touched as she'd passed her card across. She'd looked at him then, an intense blue gaze doing something to his gut, and when he thinks on it now he wonders how he waited another year before asking her to dinner.

She's grown her hair since, is more of healthy weight – he likes her curves, the way he can rest his hands on her hips – and she seems happy, he hopes she is. Certainly her overzealous friend Beryl proclaims she is.

He's happy.

He presses his face into her stomach breathing in deeply,"I want to go, I'm looking forward to it, just not getting there."

"I'll hold your hand," she smiles sweetly.

"Ridiculous, I'm meant to be the brave man."

"What century are we in?"

He shakes his head and smiles ruefully, partly to avoid another argument about misogyny and antiquated ideas about the roles of men and women.

"The taxi will be here soon," she kisses his head, gives his shoulders a squeeze. "You'll be fine, we could call to the supermarket, get one of those rescue remedy things to calm you, and I've loaded plenty of books on your iPad…"

"Ridiculous contraption…"

She glares and he quietens, it was her Christmas gift to him, "You can read on the plane, or play the games on it."

"I think I'll rely on alcohol."

* * *

As it happens the flight is fine, a slight delay due to a sandstorm at the destination but the journey itself was smooth and uneventful. There'd been a backup of air traffic over Dubai due to the storm and the passengers has groaned when after a seven hour journey they were told they were being held in a flight pattern for at least another 30 minutes whilst awaiting a landing slot.

He'd gripped her knee then, startling her from the small television she was watching (the first live debate leading up to the election, seven leaders on one stage), and she'd yanked off her headphones, "What's the matter?"

"I may be sick."

"Do you want me to get you a bag?" She rummaged in the pack of materials stuffed into the pouch on the seat in front. "I might be sick myself, listening to Cameron's bull…"

She heard him huff in response, their politics were complete opposites, but his fingers still curled tightly around her kneecap.

"We're starting to go down," he said closing his eyes,

She glanced out of the box window,"So we are," she said dazzled by the coastline of lights below, visible as the plane tipped to the left.

"Oh god…"

She switched her attention to his face, screwed up now as he felt the movement of the plane, she rested her hand on his, tapping his fingers gently with hers. "Won't be long," she said softly. How odd, and perhaps almost sweet, that this giant of a man could be afraid of flying so. She was glad she'd paid that little extra when she'd booked and gone for two seats on their own, he needed the aisle for his legs!

"Almost there," for an odd moment she thought of Joe, the last time they'd flown together, their last holiday together. Over three years ago now, a last ditch attempt to save something that had died long ago, long before her daughter had left home, they'd clung on trying to find something to cling on to and then that terrible holiday. Littered with fights and bouts of heavy silence.

And three weeks later he moved out of their family home. He was married again now, some sour puss called Sarah, she'd come in as his assistant and was soon assisting him in more than one way. The last she'd heard they'd started turning his Dad's old farm into one of those farm produce/coffee shop establishments, Anna told her so much but she didn't like to pry. She didn't really want to know.

As the wheels touched Tarmac she felt him breathe relief, his hand turned on her knee – palm to palm with hers, and she folded her fingers with his. Yes, things were better now.

They'd expected a coach transfer to the hotel and a 80 minute journey but were instead met by a private driver and some American style jeep thing, the driver was in haste (it was almost 3am when they got to him following delays) and so the journey was considerably more frantic and nerve wracking than the flight.

She'd watched Charles doze on and off as his chin kept coming to rest on her shoulder. Then he'd wake with a jolt and take in the outline of scenery.

The lobby was empty but pristine. Swathes of cream adorned with gold, terracotta pots of tropical plants and sparkling, marbled floors. She'd taken the lead at the desk, it was booked in her name, "Elspeth Hughes and Charles Carson," she'd said a little wearily and heard Charles snort beside her, it amused him no end to tease her on her given name.

Ignoring him she signed in her details, picked up their welcome package and key cards and a young man had driven them and their luggage by golf cart to their villa.

She was desperate for the loo when they got in and disappeared into the luxurious bathroom.

"My god, it's wonderful out here," she'd heard him say as he unlocked the patio doors leading to their terrace.

The room was dimly lit by lamps and she followed the sound of the sea through the bedroom to the open doors, barefoot across the cool tiled terrace and out onto short grass.

"There may be lizards in this," she pointed out coming up behind him, drawing her cardigan around her.

"There may be, but look at our view."

She stood beside him, taking in the sound of the ocean rushing to shore not meters away from them, the smell of it, the gentle breeze, the warm air, the full moon above the water.

"You did good Elspeth, nice choice indeed, a far cry from Harrogate."

She nudged his elbow with hers, "Don't call me that,"

He drew his arm around her and pulled her into his side, "Thanks for bringing me here, I've never stayed anywhere so wonderfully decadent,"

"Neither have I, in fact I feel rather like a celebrity."

"Certainly somebody very rich."

"Yes, a teacher's salary never seemed to go too far when I had a child at home. Now, with just my little flat to keep, I seem to be doing okay," she didn't tell him she'd used money from her part of the house sale to fund the trip; nor did he tell her that his had been taken from the money his mother had left him.

"You realise it's gone four in the morning," she said, her body curling into his.

"Yes, but only one in England," he kissed her head. "Come, let's have a cup of tea and go to bed, we can unpack in the morning."

"Spoken like a true Englishman."

* * *

_Next time a bit more back story I think, but I do hope you're enjoying what you've read so far. Reviews are most gratefully received! x R_


	2. Chapter 2

_The first full day of their holiday and it's all about relaxation... Didn't take long for the rating to change, did it!_

* * *

He's humming when he comes out of the shower the following morning, wrapped in a white towel with his hair slicked back.

"Did you get hot water?" She asks.

"Luke warm."

"We'll have to ask about it at reception."

She's sitting at the bureau fiddling with her iPad, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose, hair piled on top of her head and secured loosely with a clip. She looks wonderful, he thinks.

"What are you doing?"

"Setting up my wifi, I want to email Anna and let her know we're here. Send her a picture of our glorious view." She adds with a smirk. "Any one you want to contact?"

"Lord no, I'd only tell you."

Silly man, she thinks as she watches him dress, and wonders again what she's doing with him - he's not usually her type, not that she has a type after twenty odd years of marriage. But he's certainly not what she would have gone for in her youth; a slightly podgy book shop owner who wears cardigans, votes Conservative and knows everything there is to know about the English monarchy. The archetypal bachelor, he's never even spoken of past relationships and she wondered (when they first slept together) how long it had been since he'd had sex. Still, there was nothing lacking in that department, and she is more than satisfied with how things have developed.

She was smirking when he looked up.

"What? Not laughing at my love handles I hope." He squeezed his hips in example.

"No, just smiling."

"I'm hungry."

"I'm tired, 5 hours sleep at best. I was not cut out for a life in service."

"Says the person who marked essays on the plane." He pulled a straw hat from his bag and she couldn't help but giggle. "Laugh all you want, I easily burn. And remember no gratuitous displays of affection in public, woman, save it for the room."

"Yes. Man." She giggled again, slipping her glasses off. "I suppose you know all there is to know about the culture now too."

"Absolutely, I've read all about it in the welcome pack, no excess flesh." He's quieted by her hands on his shoulders and her face close to his.

"Do I have to ask permission to kiss you now?"

"No, I'll let you have that for free."

She's shaking her head as she presses her lips to his, drawing him into a sweet, soft embrace.

* * *

It's a buffet breakfast and he eats too much. She has tea, a croissant and fruit. He works his way along the line and picks up what he feels like, then feels guilty for what's left on his plate.

She refills his tea cup without asking and he adds milk, "Not China," he notes and she bites the inside of her cheek.

They're some of the last up for breakfast and the restaurant is quiet, staff busy milling about, working silently to clear and re-lay tables for lunch. How diligent they look; she muses on hotels she's stayed in at home and youngsters working jobs they hate.

"Shall we go for a walk after?" He asks finishing his tea. "There are maps in reception."

"Yes, but let's stick to the beach today, I'm too tired to try and keep up with you in a hike."

"We don't have to walk, we can stay here, whatever you feel…" he watches her over his cup, suddenly feeling awkward, there's still an element of the unknown between them, still treading gently, he doesn't want to mess this one up, as he has countless times before.

She reaches across to touch his wrist then retreats quickly, "A walk on the beach is fine, I want you to enjoy the holiday too. It's meant for us to relax, I need it."

"Yes," he wants to touch her but doesn't. He knows it's exam season, three weeks until her students leave following Easter break, and she's worked non-stop since January.

He used to think teachers had it easy, long breaks and short hours. Now he knows her and he's seen her hours. She's at her desk between 7:00 - 7:30, having a takeaway coffee and a muffin she's purchased on the way in (there's a handy Costa just two minutes from the school). She leaves around five, unless there are after school clubs or meetings, has a shower, dinner, then will often work through until 23:00. It's rare they have nights out mid-week, but she promises him come summer term they can have late dinners at restaurants with outdoor dining and enjoy the cool breeze and light nights of an English summer. He's already looking forward to the days when the sun doesn't completely disappear until after nine and he has her company.

She never complains. In fact he's come to think of her as the kindest soul he's ever met. That's not to say she's perfect – who is – she can have a foul temper and don't even get her started on politics and feminism. But she makes him feel things he never thought possible, especially at his time of life. He's closer to sixty than he'd like and still in no financial position to retire, not that he wants to. He's worked at the bookstore since he was 14 and trailed after his mother. Other jobs in between but he ended up back there, manager, now owner.

There was a time he didn't recognise what he'd become; mid-thirties, unmarried and working with his mother. He thought himself a caricature of a bachelor, he even threw away every brown item of clothing he owned to avoid disappearing. He sometimes wished he'd met her when he was young, or made a move when he first met her. But then she was married and things would have been complicated. Now she is divorced and healing.

"Are you ready?" She asks waking him from his musings.

"Yes, sure."

They wander around the hotel for a while; Charles builds up a pile of maps and leaflets on sites he wants take in, Elsie reserves a table for dinner at the seafood restaurant on the sea-front at seven.

"We should decide what we want to book," He says as they head back to their room. "I wouldn't mind visiting the museum."

"Okay, that's not too far, we can take a taxi." She takes his hand when they're off the main path and near their villa. "You'll hate it but I quite fancy taking the helicopter ride over Dubai, it's only half-an-hour, I don't mind going with others."

"Let me think it through overnight, we can book in the morning."

"Fair enough."

He fiddles with the key card for a while until the lock flashes green and grants them entrance. The room is dark and cool and she quickly strips off her long dress.

"I thought we were going for a walk," he says, the sight of her in underwear still makes him pause and breathe a little more deeply.

"We are, but if we're walking along the beach I want to be prepared." She plonks a bag into the bed, "Towels, water, cream, and I'm going to put my bikini on beneath my dress. Unless I should wear a costume," she turns to face him as she's unclipping her bra, "what do you think, too old for a bikini in public?"

"Bollocks to that."

She laughs – sometimes his language surprises her, it reminds her he's not quite so stuffy as he might like to make out.

"Well go on then, change too, I'm not swimming alone."

* * *

It's breezy but beautiful on the shore and they walk for a good hour along the private beach until they reach the man-made boundary and pause to sit on the rocks. They drink their water and eat the apples Elsie took from breakfast.

"Do you want to swim here?" He asks, glancing around to see if they're alone, he's not too fond of stripping in front of strangers.

"Yes, let's. Just for a while." He watches as she slips her dress off over her head and folds it into the bag. "It's getting awfully hot," she notes, unclipping her hair and fixing it higher up to prevent it trailing in the water.

"It's almost two, should start to lessen soon."

"I'm not complaining," she wades in, leaving him sitting with the bag and still dressed.

Her face is delighted as she treads water, splashing across to where he sits on the rocks, "Well come on then, I dare ya!"

There are times her accent rolls stronger than others, usually when she's jesting or drunk or reading him poetry. He adores it. He adores her, he corrects himself, and he thinks that perhaps he should tell her so.

He strips off his shorts and t-shirt and puts them in the bag with the rest of their things, placing it high on a rock so it's visible from where they're swimming.

His legs shiver as he gets into the water but it's a welcome thrill and he dives straight in, swimming front crawl to where she is.

"You never told me you could swim properly," she smiles, bobbing in the water, appreciative of his strong arms and thick-set shoulders.

"We've never been in a position where I've had to swim to impress you." She splashes his face, "Hey, I took lessons as a child, John and I both did, obviously not together."

She sometimes forgets he has a younger brother. They don't seem that close. John is a good sixteen years younger than Charles and spent most of his childhood in Ireland with his father and stepmother; Charles speaks little of his father, and usually only late at night after a few sherries when his thoughts turn maudlin.

"I've always loved the water but only ever learnt one stroke."

"I can teach you."

"Maybe in the pool with goggles on, don't want to put my face in here, I'll end up with mascara stains."

He swims by her side around the rocks and they paddle searching for shells alongside shrill children. He grimaces at every call from one to the other, she doesn't even notice.

"Why do they have to be so loud?" He complains before jumping back into the sea.

She wades in behind him watching as he swims away and then turning beneath the waves and returning to her.

"Because they're children," she answers when he comes up for air and he'd forgotten what he'd complained about.

"Did you never want children?" She asks as they sit on the rocks, drying in the sunshine.

He glances down at her, eyes closed, face up turned to the sun, droplets of water glistening on her chest.

"That's a deep question."

She opens her eyes, shielding them as she looks up at him, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

He touches her shoulder, "I didn't mean that." He runs his fingertips along her shoulder blade until she closes her eyes and relaxes again. "It would be easy to say I never found anyone to have them with, maybe that's true…" He looks out to sea, there's a small sailing boat bobbing on the horizon and he wonders if they can be hired. "When I left University I guessed I'd just meet someone, get married and that would be it. Normality."

She held her breath, relishing the feel of his hand on her skin, the deep rumble of his voice as he confided, he wasn't one for sentimentality and it was rare he opened up.

"Never happened, and as you know I'm not one to go searching in bars for the perfect mate, I was content alone. Things just happen."

"They do, sometimes I wish I'd been content to be alone, instead of plugging away at an unhappy marriage for far too long."

"But you have Anna."

"Yes. Maybe I was nervous of being a single mother. Or nervous of letting my father down."

She opened her eyes again, blinking in the sun.

"Do you think we'd have got on, your father and I?"

She smiled, "Maybe with my mother, my father would think you stuffy I'm afraid."

"Great. Most do."

"I don't. Besides, I'd been using your bookshop for years and your mother always disliked me."

"She disliked most people, or rather she tolerated them."

She pushed herself up, rolling her neck as she did, "But she had a great wit, you should write a book of her sayings."

"Maybe I will. The world according to Violet."

"A Violet coloured world." She smiled. "Shall we walk back and have a cup of tea before we go change for dinner?"

"Let's go wild and try one of those funny coloured cocktails with an umbrella."

"And people think you stuffy." She teases with a grin.

* * *

He sneaks into the shower when she's rinsing her hair, holding her from behind and kissing her neck.

"You'll get a mouth full of bubbles," she says, tilting her head back and letting the water run down her body.

"Worth it."

"I'm almost done, then you can have it."

He nips her shoulder with his teeth, "And when can I have you?" His mouth is by her ear, hands roaming up over her stomach to cup her breasts.

"I thought we were going for dinner, I've booked a table." She gasps as his fingers probe between her legs and feels him press against her bottom. "Charles…"

"Mm….?"

The long drawn out syllable reverberates through her; how he's not seduced a thousand women with that voice she'll never know. She turns in his arms, sliding her hands over his shoulders and pressing her mouth fiercely against his.

She's 51 years old – she thinks as he grips her bottom, pressing her back against the cool tiles – and having the best sex of her life. At times like this, when he's overwhelmed with passion and so completely intent on pleasing her, she finds it hard to believe he's a 57 year old bookshop owner.

They haven't had sex for days, in fact prior to sleeping at her flat on Wednesday night ready for the flight the following morning, he hadn't seen her since the previous Friday. It surprised him how he missed her.

He's moaning in her mouth and she can feel his erection pressing hard against her leg when the doorbell rings. "Charles…" She pushes against his chest, "It's probably housekeeping."

She slips out from his arms and pulls one of the fluffy robes around her, closing the bathroom door after her. He showers quickly, frustrated and turned on. If he's honest – in fact if she ever asked – he's never had much of a sex life. He wasn't a monk and he knew what to do but nothing had ever lasted long enough for him to really explore sexuality, pleasure, intimacy. With her he thinks he might, he thinks they're getting to that point.

"He'll come back in half-an-hour," she says returning.

He listens to her brushing her hair, applying cream and makeup. When he shuts off the faucet and emerges from the shower she's in her underwear and he stands beside her at the double sink.

"Sorry," she says, eyeing his reflection in the mirror.

"I blame the towel boy." He smiles at her, "maybe later…"

She returns his smile, "Maybe."

* * *

Charles orders Champagne with dinner, though she wonders on the occasion, and they eat lobster and watch the sun set.

"Why can't every day be like this?" She asks, swirling the last of the alcohol in her glass, "no worries, no stress."

"If we'd won that 53 million last week it could be."

"I know, lucky couple in Lincolnshire.

"I could have a chain of Carson's Books."

"I'd be travelling the world…"

"A private yacht."

"You never told me you like to sail, do you sail?"

Charles pushed his empty glass across the table, "I used to, years ago, one of those things you get into at University."

"Not in the University I went to." She glanced out at the view, "I was going to suggest we go for a drink in the main hotel." She watched him cover his mouth as he yawned, "But we're both a little whacked."

"Travel catching up with me. Still, I don't want you to waste that gorgeous dress."

She was glad he'd noticed, it wasn't something she'd usually wear but over the past two years she'd had a major wardrobe overhaul – and, with Anna's help, had begun to reinvent her style into something a bit more modern and certainly a lot more sexy. She'd grown her hair out too and had it lightened, Anna was with her in the hairdressers and assured her it took years off her face.

Tonight she'd gone for a long Jersey dress, cream, simple, but the cut was just interesting enough to keep his attention on her hips. She'd worn a shawl as they'd walked, unsure if the thin straps and her bare shoulders in the restaurant would be offensive but once they'd sat down she'd realised she was much more covered up than some of the younger girls there.

"I'm glad you like it. I don't mind you being tired, I feel the same. Do you want to walk back to the villa?"

He nodded and she reached for her shawl.

"I'll go sign for dinner."

"Don't forget, room 927."

He met her outside and they walked back along the beach front, sticking to the path, they looped arms, figuring it was safe enough at night.

"I could get used to this kind of life I guess," he said, "you know, if you forced me into it."

She smirked, "I'm not sure anyone could force you into anything. What about the flying?"

"Flying?"

"Yes, if I'm travelling the world I'll need to fly, won't you be joining me?"

"If you'd have me. You could find a nice toy boy."

"With 53 million I could _buy_ a nice toy boy."

He shook his head, "Very true, not a middle aged bookshop owner."

"But you'll do for now. You know, until I do win."

They were quiet as they climbed from the beach towards the hotel, taking the paved path that led from the main building and down to the villas. They paused at one point so Elsie could snap a few pictures of the sea on her phone, a full moon filling the inky sky. Golden lights lined the way and they listened to the sounds of scuttling wildlife and the humming of insects in the trees as they walked.

By the time she'd washed her makeup off and tied up her hair Charles was in bed, already dozing. She checked the doors were locked and switched off the lights, leaving only a lamp on above the bureau.

"Are you asleep?"

"Not quite, almost…"

"Do you think it's safe to open these drapes, can anyone see into the room?" She asked, standing by the patio doors that looked out to the beach.

"I don't think so, I don't plan on parading around naked though."

"Me neither, I'll be asleep within minutes."

He yawned again as if giving weight to her claims, "And me."

She slipped off her robe revealing the new silk nightgown she'd purchased especially for the trip, well, bought when Beryl bullied her into it when they'd met for coffee in M&amp;S last Saturday. She must email Beryl, send her some of the sunset pictures she'd taken that night.

When she turned for the bed she noted his appreciative gaze and felt her cheeks redden, realising he'd been mesmerised by the back of the gown, a sheer lace panel from her shoulders to just above her bottom.

"New?" He asked, his voice low.

"Yes…" Blushing, she quickly got into bed, switching off the lamp as she did.

She felt the bed dip as he rolled next to her, pulling her into an embrace and sliding his hands along the silky warmth of her body. "I'm only sorry I'm too tired to fully appreciate how well it fits." He whispered by her ear.

She smiled, covering his hand with hers, "I'm tired too." She turned to face him, "but I'm glad you like it."

"Mmm…" He nudged her nose with his, eyes closed as he felt her soft, supple lips move across his.

He held her tight, his hands wide across her back as they sank into the kiss.

"Who would have thought…" She whispered against his mouth.

"Thought what?"

"That old Charles Carson would be such a good kisser."

"You can spread that around, might boost my street cred, leave out the old though."

She rested her head on his chest, secure and comfortable against him, listening to the conjoined sounds of the ocean rushing to shore and his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

'Who would have thought?' She mused to herself as he slept. That the bookshop keeper would be the man to bring her back to life following the mess with Joe. A man who'd always seemed so very reserved and removed from real life was the one to shake her life up. Her only fear was how long would it last?

It was getting on for nine months now and it was all lovely and nice and she enjoyed it very much. But what was it really? It seemed unlikely they'd marry at their age, and besides, she didn't really want to marry again. She'd returned to her maiden name to leave the idea of being a 'wife' behind. And they still lived separately. He in the flat above his shop (she hated staying over in the week, it added twenty minutes to her morning journey) and her in her new-built flat just outside of town, which he disliked because it was new. She liked having her freedom again, her independence. And she still wasn't entirely sure what Charles wanted from her, what he saw in it all. Or for that matter what she did.

She heard him mumble in his sleep and shift beneath her so she slid from his arms, tiptoed out of bed and got herself a glass of water.

She stood by the patio doors as she drank, watching the surf inch along the sand, the tide was going out and the line it left in the sand was getting further away. Perhaps that's what she had to think about Joe, not have any regrets about it anymore, not feel guilty about it anymore, just move on.

She must try not to see him again. The last time had been Christmas when he'd turned up at her new flat with a card and present. He'd stayed for a drink and confided in her about fearing Sarah was pregnant – imagine, a baby at his age. Then he'd kissed her, right there in her kitchen, and it had been hot and messy, pressed up against the wall and his hands moving down between her legs…

And she'd stopped it. Slapped his hands away. Asked him to leave.

She hadn't told Charles. She hadn't told anyone. What would be the point? But she didn't want Joe thinking he still had her, or could have her whenever he felt like it. Her feelings were still so muddled over it all, they'd been divorced 18 months and yet she still cared. They'd been unhappy together for at least six years and yet she still cared. She didn't want to.

She wanted this kind, wonderful man in the bed in front of her.

"Elsie?" He asked sleepily.

"Yes, I'm just having a drink." She put the glass down and returned to bed, letting him hold her, spoon against her. And she fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

_Thank you for all your wonderful, kind comments so far. They are very much appreciated! I hope you're still enjoying their trip and learning about their lives. x R_


	3. Chapter 3

_Day 3 of their holiday, time to play in the pool and get drunk! I'm fully into this 'new' relationship and plan to continue beyond this holiday, which pretty much messes up my title! Thank you for all your lovely comments so far, hope you'll stick with it/me/them! X_

* * *

**Saturday**

When she awoke the room was bright with morning sunshine and she could feel a light breeze. She flopped onto her back, watching the drapes shift in the gentle wind.

The bed was empty but she had no desire to get up and find where Charles was. Instead she snuggled down and closed her eyes.

In time she heard him return and close the doors, pulling the drapes across.

"Where have you been?" She asked without opening her eyes.

"To the main building, I got some juice."

She listened to him pour and sat up plumping a pillow behind her and running a hand through her hair, the clock said 7:45 and she wondered why on earth he was up so early.

"You do realise this is a holiday, don't you?"

"Yes?" He said quizzically, handing her a pineapple juice.

"Then in my book that means sleeping in."

"I think it's physically impossible for me to do so."

She sipped her juice, "In half term I can sleep until lunch without issue if I don't have any pressing engagements."

He wonders if she's chastising him and sheepishly downs his juice, he isn't very good at picking up on cues and many a friend he's offended over the years with smart quips or mis-read signals.

"Was anyone else about?" She asks.

"Not really, couple of guys on the beach taking photos of the sunrise." He twirls his glass between his fingers, "Sorry I woke you."

"It's fine, you didn't really, I heard the ocean I suppose."

"I was only on the patio you know, I didn't leave it open whilst you were sleeping and I wasn't here."

"I wouldn't think that you would." She's confused by his panic and rubs her eyes as she leans back against the headboard. There are times she wonders how he manages to sell any books or keep any customers, he can find relationships so very prickly.

He climbs back into bed, sitting beside her, and she can feel his eyes on her as she rests.

"You're staring at me."

"You can go back to sleep if you want, I don't mind."

She huffs, "Charles, I'm awake now. We can go for breakfast soon then book the trips we're going to take."

"Saturday, the last day of their weekend."

"I know, you told me yesterday, we can go into Dubai tomorrow."

He rests his hand in her stomach, "We have to go on Monday."

"Why?" She bites down on her bottom lip, rolling the skin between her teeth.

"Because I booked you a surprise. I did it on the Internet – back at home, a few weeks ago, I thought it might be nice. Are you impressed?"

"That you booked online? I am. But what have you booked for?"

"Afternoon tea, at the Burj Al Arab."

She gasps, squeezing his arm, "Charles! That costs a fortune."

"Worth it though, you'll like it. And I want to see if they get Afternoon Tea right. If they serve Earl Grey."

"You won't spend the entire afternoon listing the ways they aren't getting it right, will you?"

He thinks better of the first response that went through his head, "Only in my mind," is what he plumps for.

She's laughing as she snuggles into bed and he thinks he's off the hook, though he wasn't quite sure if he were even 'on it' in the first place.

"Do you want to get dressed, go have something to eat?"

"Not quite yet," her eyes are closed but he reads the tone in her voice and leans over to kiss her.

He's so desperate to make love to her again that he fears he'll make a fool out of himself and come within seconds. Instead he takes his time inching up her nightgown, peeling back the silk and kissing every inch of exposed skin, forcing his body to wait, to be patient.

He's soon halfway down the bed with her leg over his shoulder and his mouth causing her to moan and grind out his name between pants.

"God Charles, I want to," she breathes huskily, "I want you."

Her words fill him with as much joy as lust and he wastes no time in stripping off his shorts and laying full length on top of her, meeting her mouth in a hot kiss as she wraps her legs around him and welcomes him into her body.

He's panting her name within seconds but luckily she's as far gone as he is and when he climaxes with a roar by her ear she isn't far behind.

He lies with his head on her chest, content, and he can feel her fingertips on his neck, in his hair.

"Why did you say yes?" His voice rumbles against her skin.

"To what?" Her eyes are closed and she feels utterly relaxed.

"When I asked you out for dinner last year, last August?"

She smiled, "It was the summer holidays and I was bored." She tugged his hair, teasing. "Because you asked, and because I'd always liked you and we find it easy to talk to one-another. I figured even if you just meant as friends we'd have a nice lunch and a decent conversation about literature." She kissed his head, rubbing his shoulder, "Why did you ask?"

"Because you're gorgeous."

She smirked and he twisted over, shifting his body to the side of hers and resting on his elbows so he could look at her. "Because you always spoke to me, and you seemed fairly intelligent."

"Thanks." She huffed.

"And you didn't cringe when I mentioned my hobbies or treat me like a ridiculous old fool."

"And obviously because I've purchased many a book from you over the years and keep coming back."

He smiled, tipping his head to kiss her chest, "And because you're gorgeous."

"Well yes, and of course that." She squeezed his shoulder, "Let's get dressed and go have breakfast."

He rolled onto his back, kicking off the thin sheet that covered his legs, "What do you want to do today?"

"To start with I want to make use of those sun loungers we have reserved out there, sunbathe, read my book, sunbathe some more. Maybe have a dip in the pool. Sunbathe some more…"

She stretched on her back, pushing her breasts up, aware of his eyes on her. "Do you find that idea utterly repulsive?"

"No, I can cope, you did say you'd loaded my book with good reads."

"Are you finally going to give in and read Wolf Hall?"

He screwed his face up, "It's…"

"_Sassed up fiction made to look like history_ – I know, but give it a go hey, for me, so we have something to talk about."

"For when we run out of things to talk about you mean." He pulled on a t-shirt. "I'll read three chapters then decide if I'm sticking with it."

"I can't ask fairer than that."

* * *

"Your nose is getting red," she warned glancing over at him.

"Mm," he flicked his finger over the screen to turn the page.

"You're hooked aren't you?"

"Mm…"

Shaking her head she sat up, re-fastening the strings on her bikini top and reaching for the sun cream out of her bag. She sprayed some into her palm and got up, leaning over him to smooth some onto his face, "Don't want you in pain later."

He finally looked away from the screen and to her face, "Thank you dear."

"You're welcome. I'm going up to get some water, do you want anything?"

"I'll go, you stay here."

"No, it's fine, I need to pop to the loo anyway."

"If you're sure."

"I am," she squeezed his shoulder, "go back to your book."

"Odd to think of this as a book," he said settling back down to read.

She took her time in the villa, rinsing her face and combing her hair before she tied it up again. It was cool in there and nice to have a moment away on her own, not that she resented him being there, far from it. He'd surpassed her expectations as it happened and was actually quite a wonderful travel companion. Trust Charles to read everything there is to read on the destination beforehand, he'd answered so many of her questions over the past two days it was like travelling with a walking encyclopaedia - a very handsome and charming encyclopaedia.

There was a tap at the door and she quickly put her dress back on and opened it, only to find a young maid there.

"Sorry ma'am, I came to clean."

"That's fine, please don't be sorry. Go right ahead, I'm leaving now." She took her handbag and wide hat and set off for one of the bars along the beach front.

Charles glanced up every few minutes, he was getting anxious, he couldn't help it. She'd been gone a while and despite the fact he knew she lived a very independent life back home he still worried.

I should have gone, he kept telling himself.

He finished chapter ten and put the iPad aside.

When she did reappear she carried two ice-covered glasses and a paper bag swung on her arm.

"I got iced coffees," she smiled, handing them to him. "And doughnuts."

"You were gone a long time," he said, his fingers brushing aside the condensation from the cups.

She took in his serious expression. "Don't tell me you missed me." She teased.

"I did. Very much. But I was a little worried."

"Why on earth?" she took off her dress and returned to her lounger, "it's an enclosed establishment."

"I know," he handed her drink across. "But I still worried."

She shook her head, "well, I'm back now." She took a drink, "This is gorgeous. You should do these."

"What ever do you mean?"

"In your shop, start offering coffee, get a little corner café in." She opened the paper bag and took out a small doughnut. "There's room, it would just need rearranging."

"What for?"

She chuckled, "Don't freak out over suggested change, it could be a real money maker. Offer free wifi and you'd be set."

"Wifi!?" He said exasperated, watching her lick sugar from her lips.

"Yes, you should try one of these." She took a napkin from the bag and handed him a doughnut, if he was chewing he couldn't complain. "You must start competing with the big stores, you said only the other week that business had slowed, your slowest December for years." She shrugged, "So start competing, alter the layout, put in a small coffee area, get some young girl in serving."

"Pay a worker?"

"Unless you want to do everything yourself. Expand your seating area and offer wifi, people will come in and sit…"

"And not buy books, just use my free services." He sucked the sugar from his fingertips.

"Maybe but then you'll have them, you'll be offering something those corporate stores don't, the warmth of a local business, community… A friendly atmosphere." She teased biting her lip to suppress a smile.

"You've thought all this through." He said sitting back on his lounger and putting his sunglasses back on.

"Not really, just came to me now. I can help, if you're worried, we could redecorate this summer, I can help you set up, run the coffee bit for a few weeks."

"Considering retirement?"

"Hardly, I'm 51, I can't afford it. Cameron will have me working until I'm at least 70. Then I'll die and not cost the NHS a penny."

"I don't think it's just his decision." He said as fairly as he could. "I could offer you part time employment though, if you're looking."

"You want a sweet young girl, someone who'll charm the customers."

"And you won't?"

"Some. Those that are rude she'll be more likely to tolerate, I'll just bite back."

He laughed, finishing his drink. "That was good." He admitted. "And I rather like this thing now," he indicated the tablet in his hand.

"And the book?"

"Not bad, I'll admit."

"See, some of my ideas have had a positive impact on your life."

"_You've_ had a positive impact on my life." He says gently.

She puts her sunglasses back on and watches the children splashing in the pool; a baby is learning to swim and balancing on its mother's arm as it splashes and kicks. Two boys have a blow up boat and between them are attempting to row it from one side to the other.

"You could invite writers in once you've decorated the shop. Local ones. Get a book group going. Things like that." She suddenly says.

"You're just full of ideas." He deadpans, but inside she's got him mulling it over, considering her points. Maybe it is time for expansion, maybe there's scope for making the bookstore a thriving part of the local community. He rather likes the thought of being the hub of it.

He follows her gaze to the children in the pool, specifically the boys going round in a circle as they splash their oars in the water and complain at each other about the lack of progress.

Their oblivious parents were both lying flat on their stomachs on sun-loungers at the opposite side of the pool and Charles shook his head in annoyance – what were they teaching their children?

Elsie was surprised when a shadow fell over her, she lifted the brim of her hat from her eyes and watched as Charles strode into the pool, wading towards the struggling boys. They can't have been more than seven and to them he must have seemed a giant.

"Look boys, you need coordination to make it work."

She watched amused as he instructed them on how to use the oars, striding behind them as they set off across the pool and finally went in one direction.

He turned in the water, his face beaming and she nodded her head at him, he hadn't realised she'd been watching and he stood foolishly for a moment staring at her before setting off to swim to cover his embarrassment.

Putting her book away she got up from her lounger and strode into the pool, audibly gasping as the cool water stroked her legs. He smirked and she glared at him, carefully traversing the steps down.

By the time she was waist deep Charles had reached her and caught her hands pulling her further in.

"Not too fast," she warned, "I need to readjust." They floated by the edge, moving deeper into the pool. "That was very sweet of you," she observed, watching the boys now easily row around the pool.

"I can be sweet you know."

"I know. You're sweet to me."

He moved to kiss her but she placed her hand on his arm, "In public remember." She set off across the pool, "Race you to the other side."

"Cheating," he said, she was already half way across but in just a few strokes he'd reached her and beat her to the far end.

"Your limbs are too long, it's an unfair competition."

"You're the one who wanted to race."

"I take it back," she said leaning against the side of the pool.

"Oh come on, don't give in so easily." He floated in front of her but his teasing was interrupted when a small girl dropped in to the pool between them. He wiped the splash from his eyes.

"This is my new ball." The girl said, waving it at Elsie.

"Oh, is it? It's very nice." She said sweetly, ignoring Charles' expression. "What's that inside?"

"Spiders, see!" She thrust the ball into Elsie's face.

"My, yellow ones too."

Charles smirked, floating on his back.

"I can throw it real far too. I'll show you."

She did just that and splashed off after it. Elsie was chuckling when she returned with it in her hand, like a faithful dog.

"That was most impressive, you can swim well. How old are you?"

"Five." She held up her hand to show her. "Can you swim?"

"Yes, but not as well as he can." She indicated Charles, who still floated on his back not too far away.

The little girl paddled closer to him, observing his stern face. "You're really big."

"Thank you." He said, searching for a suitable response.

Elsie chuckled again.

"Can you dive?" She asked.

"I can."

She turned again, paddling her little legs over to the side of the pool and clambering out.

"Baffling conversation," he said coming to stand beside Elsie again.

"I think we've made a friend." She said touching his arm.

The girl jumped back into the pool in front them.

"These are my goggles."

_Here we go again_, Charles thought.

"Yellow too, is that your favourite colour?" Elsie asked politely.

"Yes, like the sun."

She put her goggles on and then dropped a small, plastic item into the pool.

"What's that?" Charles asked.

"You dive after it, I don't know it's name."

"Oh."

"Teach me to dive."

"What?"

"I want my stick back."

"I'm confused. Didn't you drop it in because you're supposed to dive in after it?"

"Yes."

"But you can't dive?"

"No."

He turned to Elsie, "I don't understand children."

She smiled, "I think she wants you to play." She whispered.

"I'm 57 years old!"

"She probably saw you help the boys, go on, dive in."

"I could just reach in to get it."

Her glare told him he better not so he played along and dived down retrieving the unnamed plastic stick and handing it to her.

"But how do you dive?"

"I don't know, you just, jump, kind of."

She jumped, slapping Charles' face with water as she did so. Elsie was almost in hysterics.

"No, you have to jump down." He dived beneath the water to show her, then resurfaced, "And you have to hold your breath too."

"Mary…" A voice came from the side of the pool and Elsie looked up, covering her eyes.

"I'm sorry she's bothering you, she can be rather precocious." A rather handsome young man said to her in perfect clipped English.

"It's no bother, really," Elsie smiled. "It's good for him. If you don't mind that is, she asked him to teach her how to dive."

"I don't mind, but feel free to send her away if she gets on your nerves."

"Will do." She watched the man return to his lounger at the other side of the pool, his young wife sat there holding a baby and looking rather rattled.

"Is that your baby brother or sister?" Elsie asked as Mary splashed in front of her.

The little girl pulled a face, "My sister, Edith. Nanny says I have to be nice to her but I don't much like having her around."

Elsie smiled as the girl jumped beneath the water again, frantically kicking her legs as she tried to imitate Charles.

Nanny indeed.

Elsie left them to it after a while, swimming a few lengths and then returning to the lounger and her book.

He must have been in there over an hour, close to two perhaps, before he returned to their spot.

She eyed him over her reading glasses, lifting the brim of her hat as he towelled off.

"She had to get ready for dinner."

"Oh right, nothing to do with the fact you're wrinkling up after two hours in the water."

He rubbed his face, "No." He sat down on the end of her bed, "Cute girl."

She smiled, her toes tickling his leg. "She was. And she can dive now too."

"Very well." He said proudly.

"Shall we go have a shower, change for dinner?"

"Yes, sure."

"Good," she sat forward reaching for her dress, "I want to get drunk tonight."

He shifted his gaze from the young family, an excitable little girl bouncing about as she explained to her parents what she'd achieved, to stare wide-eyed at Elsie.

"Drunk?" He asked.

"Yes, we're on holiday, let's get drunk and make the most of nobody knowing us."

He was smirking as he got up to pack their things away. He took one last glance to the family and Mary, hoisted onto her father's shoulders, waved frantically at him as she was carried away.

* * *

She was drunk, but not so drunk that she couldn't admit she was, and it was making her want to do things she usually wouldn't. She swung his hand as they walked to their villa, her shoes hanging from her other hand.

"Let's not go in yet," she said. "There's a bar on the beach, let's get a drink and sit by the pool instead."

"Alright."

She ordered a Bellini and he had scotch and they walked back to the pool right outside where they were staying. The pool was out of bounds after nightfall and as such the area was empty, though low lighting made the water appear azure and inviting, and the air was still warm enough to comfortably swim.

He went to sit on the edge of a lounger but she sat by the the pool, her legs dangling in the water. He watched her for a while, took out his camera and took a few pictures.

"They aren't free," she said without looking up.

He put his camera away and went to sit beside her. "It feels good," she assured him.

"I'm not sure we're meant to be in here at this time of night."

"Do you always follow the rules?"

He watched her take a long drink and lick her lips.

"Pretty much." He finally said.

"Breaking them might be fun…" Her eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"You sound risqué."

She drank the last of her cocktail and then stood up, reaching down for the hem of her dress and lifting it up her body until she stood in front of him in lacy black underwear. She shook her hair loose and dropped her dress into his lap.

"And if I meant it to be…"

He was stunned when she dived into the pool and he watched her body move along the bottom of it. A silhouette of pink and white, the lights shimmering against her pale skin as she emerged at the other side.

"Well…?" Her voice was husky, her palms flat on top of the water as she stroked them back and forth, inviting.

He drained his scotch. "Screw it," he said to himself, unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his shoes. "You only live once old man."

In seconds he was down to his underwear and joining her in the water.

"If we're asked to leave I'm claiming you fell in and I dived in to save you."

She giggled, "But you undressed first…"

"Yes." He'd just about reached her but she swam out of his grasp, elusive, alluring.

He swam behind her, and she kicked her feet deliberately splashing his face. "Hey," he tugged on her ankle, pulling her back to him and she was laughing and spluttering as her body banged into his.

"Not fair, you're stronger."

He circled her waist with his hands, pulling her against him. "And you're playing hard to get."

She rested her hands on his shoulders, "It's fun."

"Maybe."

She brushed her hand through his hair, sweeping the damp thickness back. He could feel her other hand tracing circles on his chest, down to his stomach, lower still until he reached down and caught her wrist.

"Stop teasing."

She grinned wickedly but he stopped her mouth with a deep kiss, his tongue stroking hers, and she gave up the pretence of flirting and instead melted into him. Pressing her breasts against her chest, stroking her hands along his shoulders and down his arms until she reached his hands and folded her fingers with his, spreading their joined hands out in the water.

"I want to make love to you," he breathed by her ear, his voice husky, clouded with desire.

"I know." She let go out his hands and spun in the water, her back to him, her bottom pressing against his groin. He groaned this time, closing his eyes at the sensation as she moved against him, "Els…"

She drew his arms around her before swimming out of his grasp again and heading to the steps that led out of the pool.

He watched her go. For a moment overwhelmed by the strange feeling in his chest. He wasn't used to feeling this way. In fact he doubted he'd ever felt anything like it. Could it be she was the one? Finally. He knew this, he didn't want to be anywhere else, he didn't want to be with anyone else. The thought of looking didn't even register with him.

She swayed her hips as she climbed the steps, bent deliciously to collect her glass, shoes, dress and handbag, and then, in just her soaking underwear, climbed the steps to their villa, opened the balcony door and disappeared inside.

He followed, collecting his things, his heart pounding as he headed inside, realisation dawning. Maybe he should tell her how he felt. Maybe she knew. Perhaps she felt the same… Perhaps.

But once inside, and the patio doors shut, he was intoxicated by her. Naked and wet from the pool, tasting of peach wine and hot against him.

For a while they danced around just inside the doors, hands everywhere, followed by mouths, tongues, until she pushed him to the bed, made him sit, knelt and licked down his chest. She didn't usually do this, she couldn't remember doing it since before Anna was born, then such acts of utter passion disappeared. But she wanted to now. Because that passion was between them and there was no doubting how much he wanted her, how much he adored her.

He almost roared out her name when her mouth enveloped him and she wondered if anyone had done it for him before. His hips thrust forward and she had to rest her hands heavily on his thighs to keep him from jumping up off the bed. His fingers tangled in her hair and she moved slowly, deliciously, drawing out his pleasure. It was so good, he'd never dreamt…

"Oh god!" He moaned loudly, his head falling back, "Oh shit, Els, wait, I'm… Wait." He tugged on her shoulders, grasping her upper arms, pulling her body on top of his, finding her mouth with his, pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, teasing him slightly by hovering just there until he gripped her bottom and she gasped in surprised delight. "Yes…" She breathed, lowering onto his erection, deeper, until he filled her.

He held her gaze, her eyes dark blue, overwhelming. His hand on her back supported her as she moved on top of him, she felt secure, powerful, and she leant back, tipping her head back until her hair brushed his thighs. His strong hands held her safe as she ground against him and he did his best to keep his hips still as she drew out the moment, quite the challenge when all he wanted to do was slam into her.

"Charles…" Her voice had that velvety tone he loved so, he drew her body back up to his. "Charles." She said again, her movements deep against him, hot, tight.

"Yes," he kissed her forehead, "yes my darling."

She was kissing him when she climaxed, moaning into his mouth, altering her angle slightly to make the moment last and it was that which finally tipped him over the edge, gripping her back as he thrust inside her.

They wobbled precariously on the edge of the bed and she laughed as he grasped hold of her, tugging her with him as they collapsed back against the mattress.

She kissed him deeply, slowly, enjoying the sensation of having him still inside her, the remnants of their shared pleasure still moving through their bodies.

"I think that's the single most sexy moment of my life," he finally said against her hair.

She smiled, pushing her hands against the mattress in order to shift her body, "I'm glad." She kissed him again, briefly this time. "I need to move, my legs can't take this angle for too long."

He helped her get up and watched as she walked naked to the bathroom. Whilst she was gone he flopped back on the bed, absolutely exhausted but gloriously happy. He was at the point now where he didn't want to be without her, not one night. Maybe he should ask her to move in, but then the flat above the shop was so small and he really didn't like the style of her new apartment. Maybe a shared house.

He heard the sound of running water stop and sat up again, drawing back the bedcovers and climbing in, plumping her pillows the way she liked.

Yes. They could buy somewhere perhaps. A little house. A shared home. Was it too soon for that? He didn't always 'get' the rules of relationships and he didn't want to rush it. He'd test the waters, sound her out.

"Hi," she said as she came towards him, the most wonderful smile on her face, her eyes shining.

"Hello Mrs Hughes."

She chuckled at his terminology.

"That sounds very formal."

He held the sheets back for her and she turned out the lamp and opened the drapes before getting in with him, snuggling into his welcoming arms.

"Look how bright the moon is," she said looking out to the view.

"I wish we had this view every night." He said stroking her back. "Do you ever think how nice it would be to live somewhere with a stunning view, rather than the city?"

"Mm, maybe, we do live in a beautiful part of the country." She yawned. "But then you wonder how practical it is, how easy to commute to work. Joe's farm was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, just empty fields. He wanted to move, live there, but I felt isolated after just a week's holiday. There was no way I could live there permanently."

He stroked her back, kissed her head. "Does he live there now?"

She swallowed, imagining him doing just that. "Yes, with Sarah."

He traced the outline of her shoulder blade with his fingertips. His new wife, she'd mentioned it once before. He wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it. He hoped she didn't care too much.

"I think they've turned it into a shop…" Her voice trailed off.

He kissed her head, ran his fingers into her hair. "I've been thinking about your ideas for my shop."

"Oh?" She was glad for the change in subject. "And?"

"And , you may just be convincing me."

"Convincing, not _convinced_."

He held his hands up, "I only ask to be convinced."

She twisted over, leaning on his chest, resting her hands beneath her chin. "What else do I need to do to convince you?"

"Show me some figures."

She smiled, "Are you in to figures?"

He shook his head, "Are you always so flirtatious when you're drunk?"

"I'm not drunk anymore, the orgasm sobered me up."

"You make me blush."

"You know I do it on purpose," she rolled off of him. "Besides I'm always such a good girl at work, I rather like misbehaving when I get the chance."

"I can see that."

She curled onto her back, reaching behind her for his arm, "You'll still cuddle me though?"

He snuggled up behind her, kissing her shoulder, "Of course." His arms wrapped around her waist and his leg moved between hers.

"Goodnight," she whispered. "Mr Carson."

He smiled, kissing her one last time, "Goodnight Elsie."

* * *

_I really hope you're still enjoying the way this is going - please leave me a little note and let me know! It's great incentive! _


	4. Chapter 4

_So the erm... 'M' rating notches up a few rungs in this chapter. I blame Charles and Elsie for forcing me into it, it's a combination of the sun and alcohol. Apologies for any typos, I'm still working on my tablet._

* * *

**Sunday**

Elsie wakes to the sound of an alarm bleeping and curses Charles for being so bloody organised.

She hears him reach to switch it off and he groans heavily, painfully.

"What's wrong?" She mumbles, she is laying on her front with her face pressed into her pillow.

"I think the sun may have got me."

She pushes herself up, twisting her head to look at him. "Oh dear, so it has."

"I used that sun cream!" He complains.

She bites her lip at the sight of his red chest, the white bands where his t-shirt had been.

"I'm going to write to the manufacturer."

Now she groans, flopping back down onto her pillow, "God Charles, its first thing in the morning, let's not start a letter writing campaign just yet, hmm. And why have you set the alarm?"

He tentatively runs his fingers down his arm, "Because we have a full day ahead of us. Two museums and I've booked that treat for tonight."

"Another treat? You're far too nice to me…"

Her eyes are closed but she hears him smile.

"I'm going to take a shower."

"What time is it anyway?"

"Jut after 8:00."

She listens to him get up, fuss with clothes and refill the kettle. He's singing in the bathroom, 'I remember April when the sun was in the sky, and love was burning in your eyes.' Bits of lyrics between hummed melody. He sounds happy, clearly oral sex works wonders on him.

She's grinning when she goes into the bathroom and starts filling her sink, her white robe hanging off her.

"What's funny?" He asks.

"Just you… singing."

"Pretty good aren't I." He circles her waist with his arms, "Daydreamer, walking in the rain, chasing after rainbows." He kisses her cheek, she scoops her hair up and pins it so she can wash her face and he kisses the back of her neck. "I was fifteen when that song was out, 1973, it set the tone for my long year of unrequited love for Suzi Quatro."

She raises her eyebrows at him in the mirror, "Like all that leather did you?"

"The things I would have done to her…"

"Charles Carson, I'm shocked."

"See, I have a past. How old were you?"

"1973? Nine. I don't really remember that song being out."

She bent forward to rinse the soap from her face, her bottom sticking in his groin as she did so. He rubs her back, tickles from her neck down her spine.

"Go have your shower." She says when she stands up, reaching for a towel. "You're fussing me and I'm assuming you set that alarm because there was a terrible need to get out early."

His expression changes and she feels bad for picking on him, "8:00 isn't that early."

She turns, his arms are by his side now, "No, it isn't." She kisses his cheek, "But go have your shower, I need a cup of tea."

He nods, taking his robe off quickly now and getting into the cubicle, because if there's one thing Charles enjoys it's a cup of tea first thing in the morning.

She's applying her face cream when she hears him scream and curse, "Fuck! Damned water!" And she laughs because she's never heard him really swear before.

He's only in there a few minutes (long enough, he thinks), and then sitting on the edge of the bathtub complaining.

"You'll have to cover up today," she's tipping after sun into her hand and tenderly rubbing it into his red patches. "And we'll try and get you some yoghurt."

"What for?"

"It takes the sting off, you can put it on when we get in tonight and lie on the bed."

"Great, I'll smell like sour milk, very sexy."

She gently massages a particularly harsh looking patch on his upper arm, "worried I'll go off you?"

"Constantly." He sighed, "must have been when I was playing in the pool."

"Probably. There you go, all done. I'll put you some sun cream on before we go out."

"Thank you dear."

He gets up to dress and she rinses her hands; she's noticed his terms on endearment are increasing – dear, sweetheart, Els – when he first asked her out to dinner she never dreamed he'd be the kind of man who went in for such things. But then there were a lot of things she'd never imagined about him.

They decided to walk the half mile or so up to the main restaurant for breakfast and he broke the rules, taking her hand and deliberately swinging it, she was wearing a lovely dark green dress with white flowers on and a large floppy hat and he thought she looked particularly lovely that morning.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Just thinking how lucky I am; beautiful sunny morning in a beautiful country, beautiful woman by my side."

"Oh, please!"

"It's true, most people will look at us and think what is she doing with that boring, silly old fool; pretty vivacious woman that she is."

"Stop it. You're neither old nor silly. Foolish at times yes. And kind and sweet too. And I happen to find you interesting. So stop fishing for compliments. But I thank you, I've never been called vivacious in my life."

"Of course you are, otherwise how would you manage to hold the attention of a class of teenagers?"

"Fear."

"As if. I'd like to watch you teach."

"No you would not."

"I would. I'd find it interesting, you've seen me sell books."

She smiled, "I'll let you know when it's 'bring your partner to work day'."

He chuckled, inside his heart swelled, she'd called him her partner – in a roundabout way.

* * *

They take a taxi into town after breakfast, it's early but already warm and Elsie would usually be in shorts or a light skirt and vest in this weather. Instead she's in a long dress with a cardigan, intent on following the local customs.

He takes her hand in the car and gently strokes her fingers, he wants to tell her he's still overwhelmed by last night, he hopes she knows.

"Do you have a guide book for the museum sir!" The driver asks, startling him.

"Oh, yes, but I'm happy to hear recommendations." He leans forward to talk to the driver and she turns her attention to the view. This is his choice, his day. He's agreed to the helicopter ride over Dubai tomorrow and then shopping before the wonderful Afternoon tea he's booked, which she absolutely can't wait for. So, let him have his museum.

They have their picture taken on Elsie's phone by a helpful fellow tourist outside the entrance and Charles delights in telling her the history of the fort before they even step inside. History is a shared passion and she's never really had anyone outside of work to indulge in that until now.

"Where do you want to start?" She asks, opening the guide book he's been carrying.

"Has to be the Qawasim Room, apparently they have some really interesting treaty documents there." To anyone else this may have sounded intensely dull but Charles knew Elsie would find it just as interesting.

They went in, glad of the cooling nature of the building.

* * *

"I don't think I expected such a rich heritage," Elsie said as they sat down for lunch. "Maybe that sounds foolish."

"Not at all, I suppose the boom in the oil industry is what got the place noticed in the western world, but clearly there's much more to it."

"As we discovered today." She folded her menu. "I'm just going to have a salad. It's far too hot."

"I will too. Maybe we could go for ice cream later, after the pearl museum."

"Won't you be poor with all the pearls you're going to buy me?"

He smiled, "Oh, of course." She lets him order when the waitress approaches, it's nice for a change to have a man want to do these things for her.

"So, I've been thinking about the shop some more."

She folds her hands beneath her chin, "And?"

"And… I think if I take the old shelves out, I mean completely, all of it. New flooring, new paintwork, then reorder it all. Shelving all the way around instead of down the middle, then the extra room…"

"The one where you store piles and piles of empty boxes?"

He frowns before admitting, "Yes, that one. Well, perhaps I could empty that, turn that into the coffee shop, have seating, this wifi thing you think so important. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds wonderful. But where will the boxes go?"

"In the flat."

"Oh. Is there room for that?"

He swallows, his throat suddenly very tight. "Well, the thing is, I'm considering moving out."

"To where?"

He shrugged, "I thought I might buy somewhere, I still have the money from my parents' house sale. Maybe it's time I invested it."

"That's a lot of changes for somebody who claims to be stuck in the past."

"Maybe it's time to make them. The thing is…well, I wondered if you might… Well, if you might help me look."

"For a new house? I'd love to. As much as I can anyway, when I'm free."

He swallowed again. It suddenly seemed quite hot in the hotel restaurant. Not a complete disaster but certainly not how he'd planned it.

"How very exciting," she said, oblivious to his discomfort. "A shiny new business and a brand new home. What an influence I've had, I never knew I had such power." She teased.

"No…" He watched her scan the leaflet in her hand, familiarising herself with where they would next be going. 'Ask her you fool,' a voice in his head repeated. But instead he kept quiet, he'd ask her in time, maybe when he started actually looking at houses.

"I absolutely adore my flat," she said, unaware of pouring cold water on his plans. "I know you think it a bit too modern, but honestly, it was just nice to have somewhere that was completely mine."

Their drinks arrived and he fiddled with the straw in his for a while, rattling the ice-cubes around as she continued to flick through the leaflet on the pearl museum.

"When did you leave Scotland?" He asked suddenly and she glanced at him over the top of her glasses, a particular alluring trait he thought.

"Erm, well, permanently when I got married I guess. I moved to Yorkshire with Joe." She took a long drink of her strawberry lemonade. "Why?"

"Just curious. Did you live on a farm?"

"Only at the start, with his parents, then I fell pregnant and we needed our own space so we rented a small house, an end-terrace. It was horrible. And when Anna was old enough I started teaching and soon we afforded somewhere bigger," she shrugged, "And that's that."

"You never missed it?"

"Scotland? Of course, I missed my family, my friends. And I knew the farm life, I'd grown up with it. It wasn't something I planned on." She swirled the drink in her glass, "But I was young and I'd fallen in love – as young girls do – and I found myself living my mother's life." She shrugged. "But at least it forced me to get into teaching, I needed something for myself. You could've made a good teacher you know." She said, changing the subject.

"I'm hardly patient."

"You were patient with that little girl yesterday."

"She caught me in a good mood."

She smiled, "Why so interested in Scotland?"

"Just am. You told me years ago you were originally from Argyll, I've never been. Did you think you'd move back one day?"

She shook her head, "No, I pretty much guessed that would be it. But I do enjoy going back, don't get me wrong, it's my heritage. But I love Yorkshire too, I love the landscape."

"The background for walking," he added (another shared interest).

"Yes, and you've always been in Harrogate right? You told me that years ago too, if I'm not mistaken in the same conversation where you suddenly popped your head around a bookshelf and asked me where I was from."

"Was I rude?"

She smiled, "No, just you." She spread her napkin in her lap as the food arrived. "You've travelled though, quite widely from things you've said."

"Yes some, when mother was well enough to cope with the shop on her own. She started getting forgetful, the accounts didn't match up, so I moved into the flat there, started managing." He prodded the pile of dry, stick like items on the top of his plate. "What's this?"

"You ordered a Chinese salad, they're like rice noodles, they're nice, crispy."

He popped one into his mouth, "they're okay."

She watched as he tentatively dug his fork into the salad beneath, then smiled as he looked up at her, "Good?"

"Incredibly so. You want to try?"

"No, I'll try mine. You see, taking a chance on something new can be a good thing."

"You took a chance on an old book keeper, and look at us now. Having a perfectly pleasant meal on a wonderful holiday."

"I like you being in this good mood. It bodes well for my getting some pearls."

* * *

It's late afternoon when they get back to the villa and they have little time to shower and change before the boat ride they've booked – another of Charles' treats and she's really looking forward to it.

"I'm not doing anything special with my hair," she proclaims as he watches her clip it up in front of the mirror. "It will be a state after being on there."

"Yeah, mine too." He chuckles, choosing a white and navy short-sleeved shirt to complement her outfit. He leaves the top few buttons undone. He's spent the last twenty minutes sitting with yoghurt on his arms and she's right, the burn has eased.

"Do I smell?" He asks as she gets up from the dressing table.

Her eyes widen, "What of?"

"Milk."

"You showered didn't you?" But she smells his neck anyway, "You smell lovely, nice cologne."

"It's the one you got me for Christmas. Right, I'm ready Els, shall we take a slow walk down?"

* * *

She wears loose white trousers and a navy shawl over a vest top and he thinks how chic she looks with her sunglasses on as she seats herself in the back of the small sailing boat.

They're early and two other couples are meant to be joining them so he takes photos for a while before sitting beside her.

"Looking lovely Mrs Hughes." He says, brushing her leg with his hand.

"Surely it should be Ms Hughes."

"That sounds even sexier," he whispers by her ear.

"What's with all this Els business anyhow? Where has that come from?"

"Don't you like it - I'll stop."

She puts her hand over his on her leg, "I didn't say that, it's kinda cute. But what should I call you?"

"Anything but Charlie," he says, putting his sunglasses on and the lens on his camera.

"Charlie…" She smiles, feeling his fingers fold with hers.

"Not that. And not one of those ridiculous terms kids use in songs – babe, baby."

She sniggers, "I'm definitely going to call you baby." She moves her face closer to his, about to kiss him when the boat wobbles and an older couple arrive and take the bench on the right side of the boat, seemingly annoyed that Charles and Elsie have the back. "Good evening," Charles says and the man nods back.

Elsie smiles, slipping her hand out from his and moving closer to the edge so she can look down into the clear water; she can make out tiny fishes, at least thirty of them, moving in unison, and then a few larger ones, as long as the palm of her hand, white and striped with black.

The final couple are late – young, no more than 25 neither of them, and Italian.

"Right, all present," a thirty-something says, wearing a baseball cap. He sounds Australian and is gorgeous and Elsie wonders what he's doing sailing couples around – probably for an easy life. She hopes Charles won't take offence to him being their guide, he knows how to sail but she doesn't want to be the couple everybody hates because they know it all.

As the boy turns the sail she encourages him to stay seated and relax by looping her arm through his and leaning against his side.

The breeze is warm and welcoming and she's more than content to just sit and be as they sail and watch the sun set.

Charles snaps away on his camera and she thinks she must ask him to email copies of the photos to her, another thing she taught him following their New Year trip to Edinburgh.

The guide has just finished telling them about the coastline – where the man made elements meet the natural and she leans her head back, looking up to the orange sky. "Look at that," Charles whispers by her ear and sits up expecting to see some rugged landscape or an amazing sky. Instead he's pointing out to her the young couple canoodling, the boy's mouth on her neck and her hand dangerously high up on his thigh.

"It's kinda nice." She says.

"Not in public." He says lowly, tipping back on the seat as she has and looking up at the sky.

"Do you not indulge in public Charlie? I shall have to remember that."

He twists his head to glare at her for using the banned name and she smiles wickedly, slipping her glasses off. She doesn't need them now. She nudges her nose with his and whispers, "And there I was hoping to have some fun one Sunday afternoon in a field of sunflowers."

"Is that a fantasy you're revealing?"

She smiles enigmatically and looks away. He sits up again, turning on the seat so he can take a shot of her.

"Do you want me to get you both?" The Italian boy asks.

"That's really nice of you, thank you." Charles hands him the camera, coming to sit beside Elsie, he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him.

"That okay?" The boy asks as he hands the camera back; Charles takes a quick look and smiles.

"It's great, thanks." He twists the screen to show Elsie, "I might have this one framed." He says proudly and she has to admit they do look good in it, happy, and she usually doesn't like having her photo taken.

When they return to shore Elsie leaves her sandals off and wanders across the sand as Charles chats to the Australian guy, Mike, about the boat. It's dark now and the lights of other resorts can be seen in the distance. The spray rolls around her ankles and she closes her eyes enjoying the sensation.

Each day seems to pull her further away from thoughts of work and rainy England and Anna going through her final year at Warwick University and her ex-husband being remarried yet paying more and more visits to her flat…

"Hi," he says coming up behind her.

"Hi, you finished your chat?"

"Yeah, nice guy, it's his first year here. Apparently it can get up to 50 degrees in the summer."

"Ouch, I'm glad we came now."

He stands beside her, putting his camera away and for a while they stand in silence paddling in the shallow water.

"So, these fantasies…" he finally says.

She smiles coyly, but shows no sign of it in her voice, "Yes… Know of any nearby sunflowers?"

"You said afternoon anyhow."

She giggled, "True, I did. And do you have any?"

He reached for her hand, "I think you've already granted a few for me." He swallowed, licking the salt from his lips, "you do realise we're standing on a beach discussing sexual fantasises…"

"Mm, yes. Why – do you want to go get some dinner?"

"Funnily enough I'm not hungry," he said standing closer.

She turned her head to look at him, "Neither am I."

She leant against his arm, watching the water again.

"I like to watch you undress." He finally stated.

"That's it?!" She laughed.

"There could be more." He stated, defensively. "And taking your hair down, I like to watch you do that."

"You're a downright pervert." She teased, tickling his side before pulling on his arm and heading across the sand back towards their villa. "Come on, I'm going to take my hair down."

* * *

They undress themselves, watching as the other takes off clothes, revealing their bodies in unison. He's already so hard and she can hardly keep her eyes off the bulge in his boxers, certainly Charles is no 'small boy' and she thanks the heavens for that fact.

Her nipples feel tender and she knows she's already wet between her legs… She can't help but wonder where this passion is coming from. They've been sleeping together for months and it's never quite been like this. Maybe they just know each other better now, maybe they're more comfortable. Maybe it's the fact they've never before had sustained time together. Prior to this their sex life has consisted of a Friday or Saturday night after dinner or a movie. And it's always been good but never quite like this.

She throws her bra at him, laughing when he easily catches it in one hand, and crawls from the bottom of the bed to the middle.

"You're so…" He says, his mouth dry.

She turns to face him, kneeling on the bed, "I'm so what?" She says, slowly taking the clip from her hair and shaking it loose.

A hundred responses go through his head, "Tempting," he settles for and she watches as he pushes down his underwear and his erection springs forward.

She bites down on her bottom lip, "you're looking rather tempting yourself. Come here, Charlie."

For some reason the name doesn't bother him and he crawls across the bed to her, leaning forward to touch her mouth with his. For a few seconds she deliberately moves her head just out of reach until they're both giggling and he slides his hand to the back of her neck to keep her still so he can kiss her deeply.

She reaches her hand down to stroke her index finger along his length and deliberately nips his lips with her teeth as she does so.

He pulls his head back, "Ow…"

She smiles, flopping onto her back, her feet pressed against his chest. She can't ever remember being this flirtatious, or feeling this sexy, but something about him makes her want to push the boundaries – both his and hers.

He surprises her by kissing the top of her feet, his large hands circling her ankles and then sliding down her legs. He kneels higher, reaching forward to slip under her bottom and squeeze before circling the waistband of her panties with his thumbs and gently, tantalisingly, pulling them down and off.

As he sits up to throw them aside she takes the opportunity to move, back on her knees, turning on the bed.

"Hey…" He moves after her, she's giggling and deliberately leaning forward to stick her backside out as she places her hands against the cool headboard to hold herself up.

She glances back over her shoulder, watching as his hands splay out on the mattress either side of her and he suckles on her shoulder, licking across her shoulder blade and then down her spine until she's swaying against him. A delicious tightness forming in her stomach.

He surprises her again by pressing his mouth against her bottom and she actually yelps, wondering if she's fulfilling another of his fantasies. He seems pleased with himself and is smiling as he kisses back up her body, burying his face in her hair.

She can feel his fingers slide around her stomach and down between her legs and he moans at the same time she does. "I want you so much," he says by her ear and she leans back against him, twisting her head to meet his mouth, their tongues mingling deliciously.

She parts her legs, still leaning against the wall to support herself and wiggles back encouraging him, "Like this…?" He breathes hard, the longing spreading from between his legs to every inch of his body, settling in his chest in a heavy thudding.

"Yes…" Her voice is clouded with desire and she kisses him again, deeply and sensually until he takes her lead and presses the tip of his erection inside her, she feels like heaven and he almost blurts out everything he feels for her.

But then she leans back, one hand coming round to grip his lower arm, to hold herself up as she slides onto him. For a delicate moment they stay still, relishing the sensation of that position, the fact he's pressed against her back and his hands have free access to roam across her body. He cups her breast, feels her hips move, setting the rhythm, and he follows her lead – as always – he wants her to enjoy this as much as he is.

She thinks of his bed back home and how they couldn't do this there for the noise, he really needs a new one, but this one is firm and solid and as their rhythm increases she leans forward again, his hands slip to hold her hips and she yells her pleasure, unashamed by how good it feels. She doesn't want it to stop, she wants to always feel like this, lost in her sheer joy of being with him, the security of doing this with him and knowing he'd never hurt her, never force or push.

She reaches to grip his hand, "Oh god, Charles. Too much." He slows, and they move again so they're pressed tightly together. They can't move as vigorously in this position but it's deep and slow and hot.

He's kissing her neck, exhausted, languid movements and then he hears her voice mumbling her pleasure and she jerks against him and he presses forward to feel her climax, allowing his own body to finally give in to the glorious feeling.

"Well," she pants seconds later, twisting her neck to look at him and he lifts his face from her shoulder and they laugh together.

"Well, indeed." He says.

They kiss tenderly, and he slowly sits back allowing her to move and sit before sliding into bed beside her. She kicks the sheets down and they lay naked in the dim, lamp lit room, their bodies constantly touching. His fingers on her stomach, her leg between his, their mouths moving between kissing and gently worshipping the other's skin.

She feels herself drifting to sleep, and lies on her back, closing her eyes. He's leaning on his elbow next to her, holding her hand, kissing her palm, her fingers.

Now would be the perfect moment, he thinks. But as his mind is turning over the words his throat closes up and then he realises she is asleep and he lays beside her, snuggling into her body and closing his eyes.

* * *

He's awoken several hours later by her hand between his legs and her mouth nibbling on his ear and the thought that she is waking him just to make love causes an instant erection.

"Elsie…" He breathes, still half asleep, still wondering if this is a dream.

"Mmm," the sound runs through his ear, connecting with every nerve ending in his body. "Wake up." She says, her accent thick and heavy, "I want to play."

He opens his eyes but the room is dark and he can only just make out her silhouette as she leans over him and her mouth moves over his chest.

"I haven't had this much sex since I was 22 and had my first proper girlfriend."

She giggles against his stomach, moving her tongue back up his chest until she reaches his neck and suckles on his skin. His strong arms lift her body on top of his and they kiss for long minutes, her pelvis pushing down into him, grinding against him.

"I was dreaming of this," she admits, brushing the hair back from her face.

He twists them over, kneeling at the side of her. His eyes have adjusted and he can see her face now, her dark twinkling eyes, her lips swollen from so much kissing. She's smiling wickedly at him as she draws her legs up, parting then closing them again until his large hands cover her knees and he moves between them.

One hand disappears down her thigh and she holds his gaze as his fingers wander and explore, until she gasps in pleasure and her eyes shut voluntarily. She feels her legs being lifted and realises her feet are now on his shoulder and she blushes violently at that thought, at what he can see. But as shy as she suddenly feels she's also intrigued that he would do this, and more than willing to explore.

"You did say 'play', didn't you." He whispers into the dark and she reaches for his legs, the only bit of him she can easily reach, and squeezes her encouragement.

It's not often she has to admit she's wrong, invariably she's more than often 'right', but God knows she's willing to accept she was wrong about him – straight missionary position is what she had him pinned for. It's the first time she can remember enjoying being wrong.

"You need to move a little," he says, and she can hear a shake in his voice, he's nervous too.

But she wiggles her bottom down a little, feels him press against her and she gasps at the tightness of it, at the sheer pressure the angle brings.

"Oh god!" Is all she hears him say and then her head is full of buzzing and nonsensical words as they find a rhythm together and all she can think about it how good it feels with him, how wonderful.

"My darling," he's saying, she can hear his words floating into her consciousness, he's lying on top of her, heavy between her legs and his mouth covers her with sweet kisses, "my darling Elsie."

She threads her hand into his hair, tugging at the strands.

He moves his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply, and she wraps her arms tight around him until they roll onto their sides still kissing, still wrapped together.

She doesn't remember falling asleep.

* * *

_Well... Is all I can say, and they made me do it! Thank you so much for all the messages so far, I'm trying my best to reply to as many as I can. Please keep reviewing if you have the time, it makes my day to read what you've got to say. x_


	5. Chapter 5

_Major feels in this chapter, and on a side note, I think I could maybe work for the Dubai tourist board!_

* * *

**Monday**

For the first time since they arrived Elsie has to wake Charles. She's showered, dressed and ready to go and he's still snoring. Clearly last night's activities really took it out of him.

She shakes his shoulder, "Charles, you have to get up." She bends by his ear, her voice teasing, "Charlie… Baby…"

He huffs and complains as he flops over onto his back.

"What's happening?"

"It's ten past eight, the coach leaves at nine. We need to go and get a least a croissant before we go, and tea, it's going to be at around an hour and a half before we get to Dubai."

"I think I'm dead," he complains, ruffling his hair, his eyes heavy as he watches her tidying away clothes from the floor.

She's hanging his shirt when he recalls last night's events, and recalling just why their clothes are on the floor, and a grin of both pleasure and pride fills his face.

"What's that for?" She asks seeing his face. "You look like you've just won a marathon."

"Better," he admits. "Much better." He folds his arms beneath his head.

"Don't get big-headed," she warns, throwing his sock at him. "And get up, or I'm going without you."

He throws the sheets back and groans exaggeratedly, "You've changed me Elsie Hughes, I've never slept in late in my life."

"It's hardly late, you better shower and change in about 5 minutes."

"Yes sir!" He mock salutes.

She shakes her head at him, sitting at the vanity to fix her makeup; he can hardly believe his behaviour neither, he's high on something.

"Morning," he says leaning down to kiss her, more serious now.

She returns it, "Good morning. Look you're going brown."

"So I am," he wanders naked into the bathroom. "Looking good old boy," he says to the mirror.

"Shower!" She calls.

* * *

He sleeps again on the bus ride to Dubai and she thinks how angry he'll be with himself for missing it. She unhooks his camera from his arm and takes pictures of things she thinks he'll like before digging the iPod out of her bag that Anna gave her before the trip – an Easter gift - she's preloaded it and Elsie didn't bother to change any of the tracks before travelling, simply shoved it into her handbag.

She glances at the screen as one of her favourite oldies comes on, 'Rescue Me' and taps the beat out on her leg as she sings along in her mind.

Charles shifts against her and she feels his weight press against her arm. She reaches up to shift his head to her shoulder and brushes his face. When she thinks of the fact they're half-way through their trip there's a strange sensation in her stomach – she keeps pushing it down, suppressing whatever it is she feels. And just as she's at a point where she might explore that feeling she pushes it away again, runs in the other direction.

In time she's lulled by the journey and the music and as they reach the outskirts of the city the roads grow much busier, the skyline alters resembling other grand cities of the world - New York, Sydney - and she cranes her neck back to look up the towers. Everything is bright and shiny and bustling – a far cry from the peace of yesterday's museum.

There's a song on that pounds in her chest, the beat travelling through her as she listens to the words, 'Your face is all that I see, I'll give you everything, baby love me lights out.' She's never heard it before but clearly Anna thought she'd like it and the music is transporting her. She takes out her phone, quickly typing a text, 'Just on bus to Dubai, listening to your music – love it! Hope the revision is going well! Thinking of you as a lie in the sunshine…ha ha! Love you, mum xx'.

She takes out her headphones and puts them away, squeezing Charles' arm, "We're almost there." She pushes back the curl from his forehead, "Are you going to wake up?"

He grunts a little but eventually opens his eyes, "Sorry," he mumbles, "Never very good on buses."

"It's okay." Her phone bleeps in her hand and she slides her finger across it to read the message, 'Thanks for rubbing it in! Enjoyed your pictures of the beach too, maybe you can take me back there when I ace my exams! Hope Charles is well and treating you right! ? X'

"Who's that?" He asks, noticing her gentle smile.

"Anna, I wanted to check in, she's deep in revision. I'd like to treat her in the summer, take her somewhere nice to celebrate finishing."

"What do you think she'll do next?" He asks, rubbing his eyes.

She slips her phone away, "She's started applying to galleries and museums, we'll see where it leads. It'll be nice to have her back for a few weeks though."

"She's going to stay with you?"

"For a while, when she leaves Warwick and decides what to do next. I'm not sure how she'll cope living with mum again."

He's intrigued by the mother/daughter relationship they have. His mother was kind and supportive but never soft and loving, as he suspects Elsie is, he can imagine Anna being the benefactor of many cuddles as a young child, Violet was never a cuddler. And his relationship with his father has never been easy.

The air feels even hotter after two hours on an air-conditioned coach and Elsie takes the sun cream out of her bag and applies some to her arms. Charles is busy snapping pictures of the Burj Khalifa, and she's amazed at his enthusiasm after spending most of the morning asleep.

"Here," she says, pouring cream onto her hand and rubbing it into his bare arms, "Don't want you burning again."

"Thank you darling," he forgets himself and kisses her head. "We have about twenty minutes before the car picks us up," he states glancing at his watch. "Shall we use the facilities in this vast place before we go?" He turns, gesturing to the giant mall before them.

"It's shopper's heaven," she says gleefully. "Are you getting nervous yet?"

"About shopping?"

"You know what I mean…" She steps before him onto the escalator.

"I'm trying not to think about the helicopter…"

She leaves it at that, grateful he hasn't changed his mind about joining her. Truth be told she's a little nervous herself but the adrenaline seems to be overriding the fear.

* * *

Two hours later and Charles is waxing lyrical over lunch. He conveniently seems to have forgotten that he nearly abandoned his seat three minutes before take-off and she feared he'd have heart failure he was breathing so heavily as they were strapped in.

But five minutes in and his fear was forgotten. He was so engrossed in taking pictures of everything that she had to take his camera from him, "Just look at it," she'd insisted.

"Once in a lifetime," he said again as he sipped his wine, "Did I say thank you for forcing me to go?"

"I hardly think I forced," she said, running her fingertip around the rim of her glass, "just encouraged."

"And thank god for you for that, it was just amazing." He opened his camera bag again and started flicking through the shots.

"You need to send me all these when we get home." She said.

"Let's not talk of getting home."

"Put the camera away now and let's enjoy our tea, you've paid a lot of money for this. In fact," she leant forward slightly, "I think I should pay half, it's only fair."

"Absolutely not," he stated forcefully.

"Charles, it's expensive…"

"And I wanted to do it for you, let me."

The waiter arrived with their 'tea' bringing an end to their discussion and she stared open mouthed at him through the tower of sandwiches and cakes. "Do you think we'll ever need to eat again after this?" She asked, fiddling with the napkin in her lap. "In fact, do you think we'll even manage all of this?"

"Well, I'm happy to give it a go."

"Wait, before you start." She took a quick picture on her phone and returned Anna's text with it attached, 'Charles is treating me very well – afternoon tea at the Burj Al Arab, wish you could see the view! X'

Ever the gentleman he let her choose first before taking his own sandwiches, insisting on giving her a running commentary on which were his favourites and why.

It was almost three by the time they'd finished eating and drinking tea and Elsie wondered if she'd ever walk again. She was glad she'd worn a dress that day and felt for Charles struggling with the belt on his trousers.

"This is why I'm getting podgy," he said as they took the elevator back to ground level, "I can't say no to cake."

She squeezed his hand as her phone buzzed again, 'WOWWWW! I wonder what you're treating him to in return…!'

She shook her head and shoved her phone away.

"What's that?"

"My daughter being rude. How long do we have for shopping?"

He glanced at his watch, "Coach doesn't leave until 8 so a good few hours here. You know this mall has an aquarium." He said suggestively.

"Yes, I read about it, a giant crocodile I believe too." She smiled at his attempt to ask her something, in most things he was so direct, in others so very slow. "We can go you know, I read it takes about an hour and I'd like to see it too. And I thank you, I know these kinds of places go entirely against your sensibilities."

"Willing to make sacrifices…" He shrugged.

* * *

It was turning into another wonderfully glorious day and Charles couldn't remember being happier. Even from childhood, Christmases and family holidays, nothing compared to the peace and joy he felt at the moment.

He hadn't even minded shopping; Elsie had made extravagant purchases for her daughter – getting her a pair of Prada sunglasses as a 'well done you've finished uni' gift and a silly stuffed crocodile from the aquarium and, knowing how much Charles feared frogs, got him a pen with a frog on top - it's head rolled back and it ribbeted at him as he wrote. She'd bought a bright, elaborate necklace for her friend Beryl – a woman who Charles thought sounded very loud and very elaborate so it was clearly an appropriate choice in his book.

She'd also succeeded in convincing him to go ahead and buy the navy blue dress shirt he'd seen in Hugo Boss and not worry too much about the price – it was a treat after all. And unbeknown to him she'd nipped back in whilst he went to use the bathroom and got him the tie that went with it.

With armfuls of bags they went for coffee (neither needed more cake) and rested their feet.

"It's a good job I never shop," he said eyeing their purchases, "I'd be poor within a month."

"Think of it as a holiday treat."

"I am." He sipped his coffee, sighed heavily and stretched back in the chair, his long legs brushing against hers beneath the table. "Anymore from Anna?" He asked, his eyes closed.

"No, I don't want to bother her too much. She's busy, has her own life."

"A boyfriend?" He asked.

"No, not for a while now." She shrugged, "Though I'm assuming she'd tell me, you know how secretive you can be with your parents when you 'grow up'."

"Yes but my relationship with my mother was quite different from yours and Anna's. I'd like to see her again, it was only a brief meeting last time."Charles was taking Elsie to the theatre one night just before Christmas and had met Anna in her flat, they'd shared a quick hello and that was it. The only time in eight months of dating.

"I think she'd like that too," Elsie finally said, she didn't want to be rude and she knew that by not letting him really meet her daughter she was being difficult. It just meant that if he did things were different, serious.

"To the fountains?" She said, changing the topic.

He glanced at his watch again and she smirked, he was always so precise with things.

"Almost 7:05, next showing should be half past so if we go now we should get a good spot and be done in time to get back for the coach."

"You should be a scout leader, always so organised."

He carried the bags and they forced their way through a very crowded section of the mall, Elsie was in front and Charles kept his eyes fixed on the back of her head, terrified they'd lose each other in the crowds.

She led them over the bridge without pausing and managed to secure a spot in the middle.

"Nice work," he said, coming to stand behind her.

The sun had just about set and the sky was lit up before them, the water flat below and crowd upon crowd of people lined the edge waiting for the water show. Elsie stood up on a ridge, their shopping bags between her feet, and Charles behind lining his camera up and snapping away at the horizon line of buildings and flashing lights.

There was a warm breeze and her hair blew behind her tickling his face, her scent surrounding him even then, in public, in a place crammed with other humans.

She turned her head briefly and watched him taking photos before putting her hand over the lens.

"Enough." She said. "We can set my phone here," she said pointing to the stone she leant on, "and leave it to record, then take snaps from that." She pulled his camera from his hand. "Just watch hey."

As always he accepted and let her set up the video function on her phone. As it turned out he was more than grateful, it meant he could simply enjoy it with her, and as they stood pressed so close together watching the breathtaking display he realised he couldn't be more in love.

Maybe it was the swelling music, the play of lights over the water, the sheer excitement and coordination of it all… And the fact he had his arm around her, his chin on her shoulder, the breeze in his face and her hand folded with his, stroking his fingers so tenderly as they watched.

It felt like a wonderful dream he never wanted to wake from.

When it finished, and she turned to look at him, he kissed her, right there on the bridge in full view, and she pushed him back quickly, "Later," she whispered.

The moment was over too quickly and then she was pushing bags into his hands and they joined the throngs battling through the door and back into the mall. It took ten minutes to walk from one side to the other and out to the bus bay for their coach.

He was exhausted but jubilant and found he couldn't sleep on the coach, nor relax, his mind was racing with all he'd seen and experienced. And all because of her annoyance with January frost.

She did sleep, pressed against his arm, and he decided he'd tell her tonight, just do it. It seemed the right time. He had a gift for her too, he'd wanted to give it to her that morning but there hadn't been time, nor the previous night. Instead he'd kept the box tucked up in his drawer at the villa, hidden in one of his socks.

She took the transport back to the villa when they reached the hotel and he went inside to get drinks and reserve sun loungers for the following day.

When he'd walked back she was already in bed reading the news on her iPad. "According to this there are children living in Victorian conditions," she snapped, "coming to school without even having socks on. Can you believe that's going on in our country, it's disgusting."

"It is," he replied, he didn't really want to get into a discussion on who was to blame – no doubt she'd think the Tories and he didn't want politics intruding on their day.

"Here you go Els," he said handing her a glass of chilled white wine. He licked his lip as he watched her drink, never a better time, he decided. "And, I have something else for you too."

"Oh? Have you booked me another surprise?"

"No, I'm afraid we're out of them."

She chuckled, locking her tablet and putting it aside. She watched as he fussed in the top drawer of the dresser then almost had heart failure when he produced a small black box._ 'Oh, fuck_?' Was all that went through her head, '_Don't do this…'_

She had no choice but to open it, and she carefully put her wine glass on the bedside table keenly aware of Charles' nerves as he sat on the bed by her legs watching her.

"If they're wrong…" He said and she hung onto the word 'they're' like a life raft. "…I won't mind if you change them, I'm not always good at picking."

She eased open the box and found a small pair of dangling pearl earrings.

She let out a ragged breath, '_thank god_.' She'd not even told her colleagues at work she was dating, let alone contemplate getting married again, if she ever would.

"Do you like them?" He asked nervously and she was aware of how her silence must have seemed.

"Charles, they're beautiful, really, just what I would have picked, you chose well…"

"Don't say you can't accept them," he interrupted. "I want you to have them, a reminder of how wonderful this trip has been, thanks to you choosing it."

"Well, and you booking special treats." She lifted one of the earrings out of the box and held it to her ear, "Good?"

"Beautiful." She put the box aside and leant forward to kiss him thanks, resting her hand heavily on his shoulder.

"They really are a lovely gift, you're very kind."

"Elsie…" He breathed her name, his heart pounding in anticipation, his brain searching through his vocabulary for options.

She smiled warmly, and it took him a moment to realise she was unfastening the buttons on his shirt. "Yes, Charles?"

Then her mouth was on his chest, her tongue circling his nipple and his brain wouldn't work. She had him naked within seconds and they were tangled together in the bedsheets kissing.

She pulled back after long minutes and got out of bed, tripping over his shoes as she went to turn the lights off. She opened the drapes and let in the moonlight and, remembering his request from the previous night, made sure she stood at the foot of the bed as she drew her nightgown up and over her head, taking her time to lay it neatly over a chair, making sure he was transfixed by every movement.

"Els," he said again as she crawled up the bed to him, running her hands along his legs, over his erection, up his stomach. His eyes were closed, he felt the soft weight of her body as she sat in his lap and his hands went instinctively to her legs, drawing them around his waist. "Elsie, I…"

"Shh," her fingertips were on his mouth and then dipping inside; he sucked on her index finger, enjoying the sensation of that compared to what her hips were doing as she moved against him.

She reached between them, lifting herself up before delicately taking him inside her. Their stifled moans filled the room as they became one again and he had the wondrous feeling of flying as she moved on top of him.

She leant forward, their mouths meeting in searing yet delicate kisses. This wasn't like the previous night, this was slow and deep, and somehow – it seemed to him – so very emotional. His heart was hers, entirely, and his body was showing her that.

As much as he enjoyed her being on top he wanted to prove the depth of his feelings and gently manoeuvred them back, lying her down so he could move above her, sliding deep inside her, so slowly, his face so close to hers he could feel her breath on his skin, her eyelashes brushing his cheek.

He thought of all he'd seen with her, all he'd felt that day, that moment at the water fountain – that joyous moment of complete realisation. He wanted to spend his life with her. Only her. Always.

She was panting his name, wrapping her legs high around his hips to drive him into her, yet he maintained that slow, steady rhythm, giving her just enough, feeling her body tighten around his.

She reached for his hands where they lay on the pillow beside her head and they locked fingers, palm-to-palm, gripping onto each other as the sweetly intense orgasm built.

It seemed to her that every fibre in her body was on fire, flooded with him, filled with him.

She frantically moved to meet his mouth, lifting her head to his, their lips stroking and caressing and then she felt extreme heat swim from her stomach to between her legs, somewhere deep inside. It washed through her, down her legs until they felt weak, along her arms like pins-and-needles and she called his name repeatedly as she bucked against him, unable to stop, it felt like it went on for a lifetime.

When she'd come down from her high she realised his face was pressed against her chest, his mouth on her breasts, and their hands still locked together – so tight now as if stuck in that position. She was overwhelmed, and it wasn't often she felt like that, and she couldn't quite figure out why – she was loathe to admit it to herself, but really when she thought about it later, it was the best orgasm she'd ever had. The most intense. The kind people in films speak about that she always doubted existed.

Shaking she untangled her hands from his, stretched her fingers and felt him do the same, he kissed her neck, shifted from on top of her body to the side of her and she turned over, her back to his chest. There's a current of electricity still passing through their bodies and she feels that pleasure resurfacing deep inside every time his lips touch her neck.

In time his head stills on the pillow behind hers and his arm rests over her waist. Her body is languid and she finds she can't keep her eyes open any longer.

His breathing has settled, deep and even by her ear, and his fingers have stopped stroking her skin. She rests her hand on top of his, happy to have him holding her, and she lets her mind go, allowing sleep to take over.

In the still, silence of the room the sound of the ocean can be heard. Relentless and lulling. And their breathing – equally relentless and lulling. And whilst holding her to him, whilst filled with nothing more than pure joy, Charles whispers, "I love you." It's the first time he's said it to anybody in his entire life, and then he falls to sleep - blissful, at peace.

Beside him, Elsie catches her breath and her eyes fly open. Suddenly she doesn't find sleep so easy anymore.

* * *

_Well, I feel like I should include dramatic music here. I'm flying home tomorrow (sad face) which means the next update may be later depending when I get Internet coverage again. But it also means I have a good 7 hours of writing time ahead of me. Thank you again for all the lovely, supportive reviews - it's so nice to feel people are really engaging with my interpretation of the characters and this alternate universe. And thanks for all the tumblr love too! X_


	6. Chapter 6

_Forgive her, she has her reasons..._

* * *

**Tuesday**

Charles wakes late. A combination of the exertion of the past few days and the heat, he isn't used to such constantly fine weather.

He stretches his back, kicking his legs out across the bed, the sheets tangling with his feet. And then he remembers the previous night, and making love to her, never like that before… He swallows, closes his eyes replaying it all. How perfect. How overwhelming. How fitting for the end of such a good day. In fact, he thinks, it may well go down as one of the best days of his life – and he spent it with her.

"Els?" He says croakily but there's no response and he figures she must be in the shower or outside.

There's fresh mango juice on the side which is pretty much the only reason he gets out of bed. It's already warm and he pulls on a pair of shorts and pours a glass before opening the drapes. The brightness makes him blink hard and he stands by the open doors letting the morning wash over him as he drinks.

His back aches. His thighs ache. He wonders if Elsie feels the same.

There are already a couple of kids floating round the pool, their snorkels sticking in the air as they dive and search for whatever is they've thrown down there.

And then he spots her, at the far side of the water, sitting on the ledge there, half submerged.

He quickly finishes his drink, changes to swim trunks and pads barefoot across their patio and over to the pool, diving in then coming up splashing and slightly shocked at how cool it is.

He front crawls to where she sits, stopping directly in front of her legs and resting his hands on her knees. "Good morning," her right hand rests on her leg and he kisses her knuckles.

"Morning." She says gently, as if awoken from a sleep.

"You're up early."

"Or you're up late."

He chuckles, "Or that." He glances around the pool, "Getting a few lengths in whilst it's quiet?"

"I was hot and I couldn't sleep."

He looks properly at her face for the first time and she does look tired, pale, her eyes a little puffy. Her hair is tied up but he can't help but want to curl the damp, loose tendrils around his fingers.

He tugs on her legs, his hands sliding down below the water to cup her feet, "Want to race?" He says playfully. He wants to talk to her about last night, but the children are giggling and splashing and it doesn't seem the moment.

"You'll win." She says, curling her toes into his hand.

"Give you head start." His thumb brushes along the sole of her foot."Come on, loser buys breakfast."

She shakes her head ruefully, but slips down from the ledge, letting his arms support her body. "It's all inclusive."

He gives her bottom a quick squeeze beneath the water and then she slips from his grasp, treading water before flopping forward and bringing her arms up, pulling herself across the pool.

She can feel Charles by her side, he's going slowly, letting her win, and she feels annoyed by that. Her body feels heavy and she pauses, twisting in the water to float on her back, kicking her feet to propel herself – the splash hitting him in the face as she does so.

"Hey, is that cheating?"

She watches him for a moment, thinks how like a faithful puppy he is, she has a sudden spiteful need to prod him as a child might prod a bug with a stick. Inside she slaps herself for being so mean, that really isn't her, she's never been nasty or vindictive in her life.

"Els," he says gently, "What's wrong?"

She realises she must have been mulling, silent and broody, and she tries to smile at him. "Just end of holiday blues I guess."

"We still have a day and a half," he assures her, "Let's enjoy it."

* * *

She wraps herself in a towel and sits on the edge of a sun lounger watching him swim lengths. She can't quite figure out what's going on in her head, or her heart, and that numbness – yes, that's it, numb – is clouding her judgement. He hasn't done anything wrong, in fact he's been perfect, and they've had a perfect time. So what did it matter if he mumbled three words after a particularly intense lovemaking session? It didn't matter. It didn't have to. She could put it down to lust – most men got love and lust mixed up, that could be it.

Only it wasn't and she knew that. She'd known for a while now that his feelings for her had moved beyond casual dating, beyond friendship or even the bonds lovers form. She'd been foolish not to stop it, though she couldn't quite work out why she hadn't.

She felt a headache forming.

* * *

They ate breakfast in relative silence, she read the paper and drank strong tea, he had scrambled eggs and worried.

He'd done something wrong. He could feel it. Maybe he'd hurt her last night, been too forceful… But the way she'd moaned and held him, moved with him, he couldn't have hurt her.

Relationships were a minefield and just when he thought he was getting somewhere with them he got something wrong.

Maybe it was the earrings, perhaps he'd been wrong to splurge on such a gift for her. But then she'd bought him that tie. Maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe she was just tired and sad for the end of their holiday drawing near. He certainly knew he didn't want it to end. He couldn't imagine not having her with him everyday now. Not seeing her every morning or cuddling her every night – and he never would have imagined himself a cuddler.

"You're not eating," he noted as she turned a page, her croissant left untouched.

"You can have it if you want," she said glancing over her glasses at him.

"It wasn't that, aren't you feeling well?"

She shrugged, "Just tired, I might try and sleep later."

She felt him brush her foot with his and was unsure if he'd done it on purpose or simply, searching for space for his long legs.

Folding the paper she finished her tea and sat forward, "Did you want to go anywhere today?"

"I'm happy to just relax in the sun." He shrugged. "We've had a busy couple of days."

"Don't feel you have to miss something for me, I know you wanted to try and get out into the town."

"I wouldn't go without you," he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her until she melted against him in that sweet, gentle way she had.

"The pool it is then." She said.

* * *

She tried to read for a while but couldn't switch her mind off. Charles was engrossed in his book beside her and muttered every now and then at some event. Twice he'd pointed out to her where the printers had made mistakes with the punctuation – those types of things really bothered him, 'lack of attention to detail.' He called it.

She twisted her phone over in her hand, she needed to talk to somebody, get out of her own mind. She flicked to messages and scanned through for a recipient, Beryl or Anna?

Anna. She typed a long message about the weather and buying gifts then deleted it and simply typed, 'He said he loved me.'

She noted Charles wiggling his toes and how red his feet looked sticking out from beneath then shade of their umbrella. Putting her phone aside she got up and rubbed cream onto his feet, startled by the coolness he looked up sharply.

"You were burning," she stated.

"Thank you sweetheart," he said returning to his book.

Her phone bleeped – angrily she thought – and she braced herself for the response.

'YAY! About time. DON'T freak out!'

She was right, she mustn't freak out, only that was exactly what she was doing, and the more she thought about it, the more she freaked out. 'About time…' Did that mean it was about time Elsie was loved or that they'd been dating for long enough it was about time he said it? It was almost nine months, though Elsie never thought of their relationship that way. She never counted the days they'd spent together or milestones they'd reached.

"Want a drink?" He said putting his tablet aside and getting up.

"Something cold and fizzy please."

He put his shirt on, open, he'd never dream of walking around the establishment shirtless.

She settled back and watched him go, there was a woman struggling with a pushchair on the path; a baby on one arm, toddler on the other side, and the pushchair toppling under the weight of towels. She watched as Charles easily scooped it up and held the towels as she strapped the baby in.

He was smiling, the toddler was staring up at him, a little boy, and she noted the look he gave it - the waggling of his eyebrows. He was such a good man and she was incredibly lucky to have him. So why did she feel so scared of him now? Why didn't she want to jump headlong in to this with him?

* * *

She slept for a couple of hours and Charles deliberately moved the umbrella to shade her from the harshness of the sun and rubbed cream into her arms and shoulders without waking her.

He'd finished his book and he wanted her to wake so he could tell her how he enjoyed it. He swam when the pool quietened down around lunch and then she was awake and he spotted her sitting up, rubbing her face and then going inside. He swam to the edge and quickly followed her into the apartment, standing dripping in the bedroom as he waited for her to come out of the bathroom.

"Oh, I thought you were swimming," she said, staring at the pool forming on the tiles by his feet.

"You need to tell me what's going on." He stated firmly.

She swallowed, rubbed her arms. She didn't want to have this conversation, they were going home tomorrow and then she'd have time and space to think things through. Not here, where she was crowded by him.

"In what way?" She said, biting down on her lip.

"Yesterday…" He breathed deeply, "yesterday was as close to perfect as I think I've come."

She visibly stiffened.

"And today, you're like this, and I think it's because of me and I don't know why. I've racked my brain. And if I don't know I can't fix it and I so want to fix it. So just tell me, alright." He attempted a small smile.

His eyes were dark and pleading and she felt guilt clench her stomach. "It's nothing. Just me."

"Don't do that, tell me."

She breathed deeply, he held her gaze and for several seconds neither moved.

"You said you loved me." She finally admitted.

He had a vague recollection of saying the words, he'd thought she was asleep to be honest, clearly not. He smiled shyly, his face reddening, but he wasn't ashamed, he was glad his subconscious had finally done it even if his conscious mind couldn't pluck up the courage.

"I did. And I meant it." He said, proudly she thought.

Something in her chest snapped, "You didn't have to say it. You didn't have to make things so messy."

His mind raced, trying to find a response, to rationalise it, was she joking? The panic on her face told him she wasn't. "I said I loved you, you'd think I'd committed a crime."

"Perhaps you have, I thought we had some kind of agreement."

"Agreement?! I thought we were having a relationship, not a business deal. If there was an agreement I must have missed the contract."

"Don't be sarcastic!" She flounced, pulling a loose tunic over her bikini.

"Me? I'm confused. I mean I know things haven't been conventional…"

"Conventional!"

"Yes, I mean we've been dating all this time and you've never invited me to meet your daughter, any of your friends or family, or asked to meet mine. I guessed you wanted to take things slowly, after your divorce, that's why I never pushed. But I thought that despite that we…"

"What?" She snapped, she was getting angry – angry with herself more than him but it was easy to take it out on him, to blame him and not her own foolishness. "I thought it was casual."

He nodded his head, rubbing his face, his voice hard now, "Right, right, casual. That means we can have dinner every now and then, weekend sex and the odd trip where I provide companionship… But don't dare ask for more Charles."

"I never forced you into anything. I never lied to you or tricked you."

"You never told me that I was signing up to be a friend with benefits."

"And what do you have to complain about?" She shouted sharply, "You've got what you want, someone to travel with. Someone to fuck whenever you want!"

"Don't speak like that."

"Why the hell not?!"

"Because that is nothing LIKE what I want!" It was the first time he'd raised his voice and it startled her to hear the booming volume of it.

"Maybe I was happy with the way things were." She said gently, the words coiling around her stomach like a serpent after its prey. "Maybe the reason I'm dating you is because you would never say those words, did you ever consider that? Because you were simple. That I've been sleeping with you because you're so emotionally repressed you'd never even feel that, let alone say it. Because that would make it easier."

He stares at her open mouthed for a few seconds, it's long enough for her to register the change in his eyes, from anger to utter despair – and she's so very sorry. Immediately sorry. But she can't take it back.

He walks out without saying a word and she throws up her hands in annoyance, "Stupid man!" She says to the the room then flops onto the bed, falling backwards and staring at the ceiling. "Stupid woman." She says to herself.

* * *

**5 months earlier**

Elsie likes Charles' flat, though it's very different to hers, Victorian in style, high ceilings, large windows, old plumbing! She's sitting on his couch with her laptop on her knee and he's talking to her from the kitchen.

"I feel I'm short-changing you," he calls through.

"I've told you, I like cheese and biscuits."

"Yes, but you're giving up your Friday night to fix my webpage." He walks in carrying a large tray filled with an assortment of cheeses, crackers, fruit and salad.

"Wow, you take your cheese seriously, I expected maybe a chunk of Red Leicester and some chutney."

"I have chutneys," he assures her, returning to the kitchen and coming back with small carousel of them.

She can't help but laugh and covers her mouth to try and keep it in.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, you're just like the archetypal bachelor – books and cheese, are we having port too?"

He pouts then slowly nods, "Yes."

She laughs again, throwing her head back as giggles fill her chest.

"I'll go get it," he says; they've been seeing each other regularly for a couple of months now and he's slowly getting used to her wicked sense of humour.

She's still sniggering when he sits beside her on the couch.

"Okay, so here is how your new website could look." She says, turning the laptop to him. "Whatever's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Well, no offence Charles but as my Granny used to say you've got a face like an aiver."

The sound of her accent does something odd to his loins, he can't fathom why. "Which is?"

"An old horse. Are you sulking?"

He shrugged, "I'm not used to being laughed at."

She can't believe that's truly the case, surely at school he would have been a prime candidate for bullies – but that's not what she's doing.

"Charles, you need to lighten up. I wasn't being cruel." She sighs, "Sometimes I think our personalities just clash - I'm loud, it's how I was brought up, we ribbed each other senseless."

He frowns, "As in mocked?"

"Yes. I'm from a large family, you had to be loud to be heard, and being picked on was part of the course."

"My mother wasn't like that."

She remembers Violet from the shop, in fact when Elsie first started using it Violet ran it, she only spotted Charles occasionally. And no, she can't see her as filling the house with raucous laughter as Elsie's childhood farmhouse was.

"And I was an only child."

"I thought you had a brother?"

"Half brother, he lives in Ireland with my father, we didn't grow up together." He sighs, "Sorry, that was childish of me."

"It's alright, I suppose we're still getting used to one another – am I starting to annoy you yet?" She's touches his arm as she asks and he suddenly has trouble focusing. "Because I know sometimes my teasing can be a bit much."

He shakes his head, "No, and am I annoying you? I've been called an odd bean many times in my life."

She tilts her head to the side and smiles kindly at him, "No, you aren't." He watches her earrings dangle, swinging as she moves her head, and he realises how badly he'd like to kiss her. He has no idea how he's going to go about making that happen.

"So, your webpage."

He shakes his head clear, "Yes, I got confused when it started flashing up messages about bandwidth and the like, it's a foreign language to me."

He'd said as much earlier, calling her at 5:45 exactly (time enough to shut the shop and get a cup of tea before he settles to chat to her), to ask if she'd like him to get theatre tickets for the following Saturday and he'd mentioned his webpage had gone down, she'd offered to help and by 7:00 was sitting in his lounge laughing at his cheese selection!

"Well, by no means am I an expert," she says, "But I've gone back to your account, looked at your terms and conditions and upgraded you." She places the laptop on his lap, "It works out something silly like 75pence extra a month."

"75 pence? That seems a ridiculous price." He points at the screen. "Did you do this?"

"Yes, but I haven't saved it yet so don't click anything."

He holds his hands up away from the keyboard and she has to suppress another chuckle.

"I just moved things around, made it look more spacious, changed some colours… Ooh, I moved your search engine up here see," she leans over him, he smells heady like spices and fine red wine and it catches her off guard. "It will make it obvious then, customers want to find hints quickly. And your pay section here," she rolls her finger across the mouse pad. "See, then it's clear and accessible, it was sort of obscured before."

"You're a genius," he says looking at her. "I thought you said you taught History."

"Well, I do, I just…" She looks up from the screen and finds his face is inches from hers and he's got the most delighted smile on his face. She swallows, "I know my way around a computer, for the most part."

Her breast is squashed against his upper arm in that position and it's sending a delightful buzz through the rest of his limb. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

And then he wasn't sure if she leaned forward first or he did but their lips fluttered together in a barely there nothingness, neither even closed their eyes. Then she was definitely the one who moved first the second time and touched her lips to his more purposefully, and the thought that she'd gone back for more filled him with excitement.

He was tentative - allowing her to lead it, delicate kisses as they tested the waters. Then he felt her body relax against his and his hands had let go of the laptop and were creeping forward to touch her, just gently, just skimming her sides, and her mouth opened and he tenderly stroked her tongue with his and she moaned and his groin tightened. He was mortified – their first kiss and his body does that.

Slowly, they returned to soft touches. Then she was touching his forehead with hers and smiling coyly, "I guess in some ways we're more than compatible." She said.

He guessed she meant that was a good first kiss.

They saved his webpage and ate the cheese and crackers and drank port. And he got to kiss her twice more like that before the evening was out.

* * *

**Present Day**

It's 19:45 and their reservation is at 20:00. She was considering calling the restaurant to cancel when the door opened. Charles said nothing to her. She listened to the sound of running water in the bathroom, then the smell of his cologne as he came out. She watched him don trousers and a shirt.

"We'd better go," he said lowly. "We'll miss our table."

"I'm not dressed," her voice is weak. He stands aside and waits as she pulls a dress from a hanger, it's purple with a deep v neckline. She stands before the mirror tugging the material into place, running a brush through her hair, it's such a mess from lounging on the bed all afternoon. She plumps for a quick French roll and pins it haphazardly in place. Earrings. Lipstick. And she turns to him

"Fastest I've ever gotten ready."

He turns toward the door, "Let's go."

"Wait, oughtn't we to talk first?"

"What's to say?"

She bites her lip, "Sorry, for a start."

His brow furrows and he squeezes the door handle.

"I'm sorry Charles, I was so very rude, so hurtful and didn't…"

He held his hand up, "Don't say you didn't mean it, because you must have meant some of it otherwise it wouldn't have come out." He swallowed, "You don't love me, that's fine…"

"I didn't say that."

"…But I don't like being used."

She swallowed uncomfortably, her voice softening, "I'm not using you… God Charles," she groaned in frustration, "I don't know what I feel. I've spent so long trying not to feel anything... I know I don't want this to end."

Again he stares at her and she feels sharp tears prick her eyes, she wills herself not to cry. "Let's just go and have a nice dinner," he says gently, before adding, "And get drunk."

She hasn't eaten all day but still finds chewing difficult. She orders fish and vegetables in some fancy sauce, she can't even remember reading the menu. Charles has steak and drinks a bottle of red wine to himself. They hardly speak. He mentions the book and his thoughts on it. She tells him about the television adaptation, about a cricket article she thought he'd be interested in on whether the county championship is fit for purpose. Conversation is dull and muted and it reminds her of that last holiday with Joe, only she didn't feel in the wrong then, now she most definitely is.

After dinner he has two brandies and by the time they get outside he can hardly walk. He's singing snippets of songs and wandering from the path onto the sand and she knows he'll hate himself for ruining his shoes.

She hates that she's the cause of this.

"Charles." She says imploringly.

"Els!" He says in a sing-song voice, "Elsie, Elsie, Elspeth."

"Come walk on the path," she asks, glad there doesn't seem to be anyone else around. "Come walk with me."

She holds her arm out and he takes it, leaning heavily against her. "You know you're bloody gorgeous." He says his chin on her shoulder. He's so tall he has to bend to kiss her cheek, "Bloody gorgeous. Of course you don't want me." He laughs viciously.

"Don't say that. That isn't true." She half pulls him down the path, supporting him, doubled under his weight, "You just drank too much. You'll be okay."

They make it to the room and he's singing again, Nilsson, and swinging his shirt around as he takes it off. She catches it, easing it from his hands and he flops back on the bed.

"Come on then," he says, unbuckling his trousers, "Let's go, last night here."

"Don't," she warns, taking his shoes off. "I understand why you've done this Charles and I accept the blame but don't say things like that.

"It's what you want isn't it, and I can still perform, drunk or not!" His words are slurring and she knows he'll be asleep soon.

"Come on," she pulls his trousers off, "Let's get you into bed." She's trying to pull him up the bed, leaning over him.

"Come to bed with me, Els." He kisses her hands, clambering beneath the sheets, "Come with me, get undressed."

"I will." She pulls her hands loose, tries to settle him. "I will in a moment, hush now."

She turns the lamp off and he soon quietens, mumbling as he drifts to sleep, "I'm not allowed…" He says and she's unsure what he means but surmises it probably involves her.

She undresses slowly, listening to him, hoping he'll be asleep before she gets into bed, lying as close to the edge as she can, it's not that she doesn't want him to touch her, but she feels he mightn't want her to touch him.

* * *

_Well, all I can say is 'sorry', but I have a plan - stick with it. And thank you again for your reviews, especially these lengthy ones, I really enjoy reading your take on things. Am slowly replying to you! X_


	7. Chapter 7

_Well, that last chapter certainly provoked some angst - as with all good relationships nothing is straightforward because humans aren't straightforward. Well, maybe the wonderfully sweet Charles is... Elsie still has a lot of shit to work through. Hopefully the flashback will balance the drama._

* * *

**Wednesday**

Elsie wakes disorientated, a loud bang startling her. Her head is heavy with sleep - the clock only says 4:17 and she can hear Charles groaning in the bathroom.

She gets up, pulling a sarong around her shoulders because it's the first thing she sees.

She taps on the bathroom door and it swings slightly and she can see his feet, he's sitting on the side of the bath.

"Charles…" She goes in, takes a look at his appearance and finds a cloth, pressing it to his forehead and standing in front of him, between his legs, holding it there in silence.

"I'm sorry," he says when she turns to freshen it. "Made a fool of myself."

"No, you haven't." She touches the top of his head.

"Did I embarrass you in the restaurant?"

She looks down at him, this giant of a man suddenly seems so small sitting there, "No, you didn't. We just looked like every other married couple – not speaking and getting drunk."

He smiles at her quip and finally lifts his head up, the lights killing him.

"Do you feel sick?" She asks, cupping his face with her hands, he shakes his head.

"Just hot, and this throbbing here." He touches his forehead.

She searches in her cosmetics bag then hands him tablets and a glass of water.

"Thanks."

She freshens the cloth again and places it on top of his head, "You want to try going back to bed for a while?"

He nods and leans against her as he gets up. "Sorry," he says again.

"You have nothing to apologise for, nothing."

"I ruined our holiday."

"No, you didn't, I did."

He climbs back into bed and she gets him water from the fridge and switches off the lights; he's asleep by the time she gets back in bed.

She lies on her back listening to his breathing and it lulls her back to sleep too.

* * *

When she awakens again Charles' head is on her stomach and her hand is threaded into his hair and she can't think of how they got into that position.

The clock tells her it's way after nine but the room is in darkness thanks to the thick drapes covering every window. She listens to the sea, to his breathing, and strokes her fingers through his thick hair.

Soon he moves, turns and she watches as realisation dawns and he quickly pulls himself up from her.

"Morning," he says, startled that she's awake and watching him, "sorry about that."

"Don't be."

He spots the bottle of water on the side and drinks the majority of it straight down before lying beside her again.

She turns to face him, tentatively running her hand along his upper arm, "How are you feeling?"

"Physically – not bad. Otherwise… like a complete fool."

"You mustn't."

He turns to face her on the pillow, lifts his hand to fan out her hair.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you yesterday, for anything I may have said when inebriated."

"You didn't say anything out-of-line. And I deserved it." She squeezed his arm and he can't help how he feels, drawn to her, intoxicated by her. "I was the one who was out-of-line. I was nasty," her stomach twists at the memory of her words. "I was cruel to you and there was no reason for it..."

"There's a reason for it, you just don't seem to want to tell me."

Her eyes tighten for a moment and then she looks so sad. So lost.

He leans forward, gently touching her lips with his before retreating again. She doesn't complain so he does it again. And again. Until they're kissing softly and warmly; one arm over the other's body.

His body forgets about harsh words and the hangover clawing at his brain and instead he rolls on top of her, her legs willingly parting for him, his hands pushing up her nightgown and the sweet taste of her mouth on his.

Her arms come to circle his body and he feels her tongue touch his and he groans painfully, rolling off of her, scooting up the bed and covering his face with his hands, "Christ, I can't do this." He says.

The loss of his touch makes her ache and she sits too, clumsily, her head dizzy, leaning against the wall.

His hands slip from his face, "I can't do this. I can't switch off how I feel. If you don't want more…"

He throws his legs out of the bed and gets up, "I'm going to take a swim, it might clear my head, then pack."

"Charles, please…"

"I don't KNOW what to say to you." He didn't mean to raise his voice and he's annoyed with himself, ruffling his hair as he stands in the middle of the bedroom searching for an escape.

"I don't want this to stop, I don't want to stop seeing you." She says gently.

"But maybe crumbs aren't enough Elsie, maybe I'm not content to just settle. Clearly you aren't." He grabs his towel and swim gear and is gone within seconds.

For the first time since the argument started she sits and cries, alone in the bed they've lovingly shared for a week.

* * *

She packs most of her belongings whilst he swims and orders room service for them. Taking sandwiches, fruit and tea outside. Settling on her lounger she eats and watches as he relentlessly pounds back and forth through the water – clearly he wants to get something out of his system.

It's already hot and she covers herself in cream, puts on her hat and settles back to enjoy her last day in the fine weather.

Already thoughts of work are returning – planning, marking, revision, deadlines, targets… Her gut tightens at the thought.

Charles finally stops, midway across the pool, clutching his side. She sits forward, "Are you okay?"

"Stitch," he seems surprised to see her there.

"Come have something to eat," she says softly.

He does as she asks, rubbing his hair with a towel before wrapping it around his waist and sitting on the chair by the table, eating a piece of melon.

She turns on the lounger to face him, "Please talk to me."

"There's nothing to say."

"I don't want our last day ruined."

"It's only half a day." He says.

"Charles!" She sighs heavily. Then notices they aren't alone out there anymore; parents with three young girls are throwing floats into the pool and a young couple have taken loungers not far from them. She lowers her voice, "I don't feel like I've settled." She reaches to touch his leg, "Of course I don't, why would you think that?"

He stares at her, "You're asking me why… After yesterday!" His voice is sharp.

She glances around, "Charles."

"Look, I don't want to argue with you out here. Let's just leave things."

"Leave things where exactly?"

He shrugs and she flops back on her bed, torn between wanting to strangle or hug him.

* * *

They have a late flight and arrive at the airport just before 21:00. Check in is straightforward and he insists on pulling both of their cases leaving her just with a bag to carry.

The airport is huge and they get lost twice on their way to passport control but the queue is short which is a kind of blessing. He watches other couples as they stand there in silence, then counts them and of the nine couples he can see in nearby queues only two are talking. So, at least they're part of the majority. Which is a slim triumph.

"Shall we get some coffee?" She asks waiting for him to put his belt back on and shoes.

"Sure, is it just me or do they pick on men – you got through without removing a thing."

She shrugs, "Don't wear a belt."

"My trousers will fall down without it."

She's smiling as they head towards the restaurants and shops, Charles is behind her and she takes comfort from the fact he has his hand on her back.

"There's a Starbucks, they do coffee right?"

She can't help but grin at his lack of knowledge when it comes to things like this, sometimes he's so unbearably cute. "Yes, they _do_ coffee. I'll go, you get a seat somewhere, what would you like?"

"I don't know, anything drinkable, you choose. Here," he pulls out his wallet, "Take some money."

"It's fine. Don't worry."

He looks lost, of course he's chosen a seat away from everybody else and is facing the water garden and she feels such a rush of affection for him that she has to stop – her hands burning from the paper cups she's squeezing.

His voice keeps coming back to her; lying warm and safe in his arms and his breath by her ear and 'I Iove you.' And she so wishes she could say it back.

He turns and sees her and waves and she swallows painfully before going to sit with him.

"What do I have?" He asks taking the lid off, "Is that cream?"

She smiles, "Yes, hot chocolate, with cream."

"Oh, but you're wonderful." He says taking a drink.

She wishes she was as wonderful as he thinks she is.

He wishes she thought him wonderful too.

* * *

It's a difficult journey home. They've hardly spoken and when they do its in monosyllabic form. He sleeps on the plane. She watches him – this puzzling, difficult man who has fallen in love with her – and fears she's lost something very precious.

She lifts the armrest between them and snuggles into his side. It's a night flight and most of the plane is asleep. He lifts his arm automatically and she finds her head against the side of his chest, his arm tight around her side. She pulls a blanket up over his legs and her shoulders before closing her eyes.

He wakes her when they bring breakfast, ordering her tea and doing his best to ignore the fact they were sleeping wrapped tightly together. Clearly the air hostess thought it adorable from the look she gave him.

Elsie sits up, loosening where her shirt has become wrapped tight around her waist and folding the blanket. They'll be landing in just under three hours, the longest part is over.

She glances behind them to where the toilets are and not seeing a queue she turns to Charles, "Can I just get past? I'm going to wash my face before breakfast."

"Sure," he stands, bending to avoid banging his head, and annoyed at the awkwardness between them. He doesn't want that. She's been his friend for years. He didn't mean to ruin it by getting carried away with his feelings. He can get over this, he's sure, he just needs a bit of time apart from her to get his head straight.

She's back soon enough and slipping past him again and he can smell her perfume and feel her hair brush his arm and he wants to kiss her so badly that he's glad of the air hostess handing out a tray of aeroplane food – glad of aeroplane food, he wonders if it's an oxymoron.

They hit turbulence just as breakfast is finished and the seatbelt sign comes on followed by a warning from the captain – at least thirty minutes of it.

At first it's just a slight shaking, though she sees him grip his armrest, but then they bump quite suddenly and he grabs her arm so tightly he pinches her skin and she yelps.

"Sorry," he says through gritted teeth, snatching his hand back.

They bump again and he closes his eyes, "Shit Els…"

She takes hold of his hand, holding it tightly between both of hers. "It's fine," she whispers soothingly. "Look, the staff are still moving about so it's fine."

"It doesn't feel fine. I told you I hate flying." She recalls their conversation before they left her flat – it seems like a lifetime has passed since then, they've done so much, learnt so much about each other.

She rubs his fingers, leaning closer to him, her head near his shoulder. "So, the historical figures I'd like to meet are – Charles V, Anna Boleyn, and... Elizabeth I has to be on there of course. I know it's a cliché but I don't care."

"I'll go cliché too and say Shakespeare." He says quietly, focussing on the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand, grateful for her attempt to distract him.

They bump again and the tray with his drink on wobbles.

"Ask him if he really wrote all those plays." She says quickly to cover it.

"Ask him who inspired those wondrous sonnets."

"Mm, maybe we could get a whole Tudor era reunion."

"You think they'd argue? Wouldn't Henry want to chop Anne's head off?" His grip on his armrest is lessening.

"He'd be happy if we gave him pie."

The plane jerks again and his breath snatches, "Oh god – your favourite play?"

"Erm, still Shakespeare?"

He nods. His eyes called again.

"Tough choice – I do like Much Ado About Nothing, Beatrice is such a wonderful character, I know comedy wise Rosaline is highlighted but I like Beatrice, she's feisty and quick-witted."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

"Not the Scottish play?"

She smiles, "Not the Scottish play."

"How long has this lasted?"

"Erm, I'd say quarter of an hour, maybe twenty minutes."

"He said half an hour, it should be over soon."

"Hopefully…"

"Favourite tragedy?"

"Seems odd to have a 'favourite' tragedy. And I have to admit I haven't seen them all."

"You should see them all. I'll take you. We'll make a list and start crossing off the ones you have seen." He says confidently.

"Alright." She rests her cheek on his shoulder, "it seems to be settling." And closes her eyes.

"Thank you." He says relaxing back in his chair a little.

"For what?"

"Talking to me. Getting me through my fear."

She pats his arm, "I'll always talk to you."

"I know. That's the reason I asked you out."

* * *

**8 months ago**

It was Sunday and Elsie was bored. She'd pretty much done all there was to do in her new flat, tidying, painting, rearranging. Anna was in Portugal with her friends and Beryl always spent the summer in France with her brood of a family.

So, the sun was shining on a lovely August day and she had nothing to do…and she resented it.

She got in the car, put on the radio and drove out through the countryside. It was days like this she regretted not buying a soft-top, she'd always wanted one. Maybe one day.

'It's classic love this fine morning,' the presenter said and Elsie rolled her eyes. 'So let's get back to it with a song originally recorded by Diana Ross and…who fact fans? Call in if you know.'

"Lionel Richie," Elsie said to herself as the first notes filled the car, "Endless Love." She found herself singing along, though she didn't believe a word they sang. All that stuff about giving your all to one person, about love never ending… Garbage… But then she could now tick the 'divorcee' option on forms which somewhat clouded her judgement.

Eventually she parked in town, buying a paper as she walked towards the Montpellier quarter, heading for her favourite café for lunch.

At the other side of town Charles was also bored, though for different reasons. It was his Sunday lot, meaning the old ladies who frequented his shop to natter and ask him inane questions.

He positioned himself behind his counter awaiting their inevitable arrival – it filled him with gloom. And the morning had been going so well, he liked Sunday's for the papers and poached eggs on wholemeal toast in the coffee shop around the corner. Thomas has joined him, filling him in on his latest conquest and he'd laughed at the so-called 'outfit' he was wearing, they must look like the archetypal odd couple. Often Thomas had called him his sugar daddy and he hated to think people saw them together and thought that very thing.

The purple rinse brigade, he used to call them as a lad, old ladies gathering for a chat. Three of them wandered in – thick foundation, a basket on their arm.

"Good afternoon," he said overly cheerily. He hated playing this game, he really wasn't cut out to be a salesperson. 'Bit late for a change of career old boy,' he thought to himself.

It was whilst he was mumbling to himself about how they'd messed up the language section by putting the 'I authors' before the 'e authors' that he heard someone giggle from behind the other shelf.

He popped his head around ready to pounce on some young idiot obviously using the shop to canoodle (it happened more often than you would think) and spotted his favourite customer.

Elsie looked up to see his glare, "I'm sorry," she said, "you made me laugh."

His stance softened. "Mrs Burns, how are you?"

"Having a better day than you it would seem. And you forgot, again…" She waved a book at him.

"I'm sorry, it's Hughes isn't it."

"It is. Would these be the cause of your bad day?" She whispered, indicating the chattering women making their way to the counter.

He nodded, "I shouldn't complain, they buy well. Excuse me a moment."

Elsie returned the book to the shelf, moving around into the new fiction area and taking one down to read the blurb. She was only half-reading though, she was half watching him serve the ladies – all grace and charm as he wrapped and packed their buys. He was the last bookshop she knew of where the books were still wrapped in brown paper for the customer.

She put the book down again.

"Do you want something in particular?" He asked down the shop and she realised they were alone.

"Not really, I'm just browsing." She headed up to him, he watched her over the top of his glasses before returning to scribbling in his ledger. "I was bored, felt I was wasting my day."

"So you came into town?"

She fiddled with the bookmarks on the counter, shuffling her bag higher on her shoulder.

"Yes, thought I'd have lunch and a wander." She paused watching him write, he had lovely handwriting, all curved edges and flowing script. "Can I ask you something?" She asked.

He looked up sharply, surprised to find her so close. Her hair looked lighter than when he'd last seen her, and slightly longer, he liked it. And he wasn't usually one to notice such things.

"Of course."

"Why do you still do it that way? Doesn't the computer do it for you?"

"Well, I erm… It does, but we don't always get on this thing and I." He indicated the cash register, slipping his glasses off and pointing at it with them. "I feel more at ease with pen and paper, then if something goes wrong I know I have it."

She smiled, tilting her head to one side and biting her lip – he thought her lovely, he always had, but on that particular day she looked more lovely than usual.

She moved to another shelf and started scanning the titles.

"And are you enjoying your summer break Mrs Hughes?"

She shrugged, "In a way. My daughter's away and most of my friends, and the ones that aren't are married with children – its not always easy when you're the only single one at gatherings."

"I can empathise with that. I find I've become very good at forming excuses."

"I'm getting better at it," she glanced over to him and smiled again and her eyes sparkled and he found he followed the line down her neck, the slender curve of it, then his eyes betrayed him and he glanced at her breasts in that pretty summer dress, her cleavage…and coughed to clear his head. Such inappropriate thoughts.

"I used to enjoy gardening," she took a book on Gardens of the World from the shelf, "But since I've sold my house and moved into a flat I'm limited to a few window boxes."

"You've moved?"

"Yes, a few months ago. Not great timing mid-term but I'm getting there now. The only problem is…" she snapped the book shut and returned it to the shelf. "…as I say, I'm a little bored."

"I suppose you're used to the bustle of teenagers."

"I'd call it noise rather than bustle but yes, I suppose I am."

He coughed again, fiddled with his jacket, later he could never quite recall what made him do it but suddenly he blurted out, "If you'd like to have dinner one night that would be nice."

Her face was a mixture of surprise and amusement at his awkwardly phrased question, or was it a statement, she wasn't sure.

"Yes, I suppose it might be." She stated in return.

He stared at her, unsure of what to say next, did she just accept?

"Thursday?" He suggested.

She smiled again, intrigued by his raised eyebrow, the slightly confused expression and his obvious unease in this type of situation.

"Do you ask many of your customers out to dinner?" She asked teasingly.

He flustered, "No, never, I'm sorry, you must think I'm terribly forward…"

She waved her hand, "Not at all, I was only teasing." She must remember he didn't tease that easily. "Why have you never asked me before? I must have been using this shop for at least fifteen years."

"Well, because you were, er…" He gestured to her hand, the now absent wedding ring.

"Oh yes, of course."

"So…" He prompted.

"So, I'm not actually sure you've asked me a question."

_Damn and blast it Charles!_ He cursed himself, he'd made a right mess of this. "Haven't I?"

"Now you have."

He chuckled, she was fun, easy-going, he liked that. And there was something there, there must be otherwise he wouldn't have asked, he'd not asked a woman out on a date in almost ten years.

"Mrs Hughes, would you like to join me for dinner on Thursday night?"

Her eyes glistened again and he realised he'd never noticed how blue they were before, he always thought them dark, possibly brown. "Yes Charles I would. But I think perhaps you ought to call me Elsie if we're to go out for dinner."

Now he smiled, his cheeks reddening, "Elsie."

She liked the sound of her name on his tongue. The low, deep rumble his voice had as if he caressed the word.

"What time?" She asked.

"Well, I could book a table say for 7:30?"

"That would be fine." She dropped her bag to the floor and leant across the desk and picked up his pen, scribbling on the blotter pad he kept by the register, "This is my number, should you need anything."

He swallowed, a woman had given him her number and he felt giddy.

"I should like to pick you up."

She looked up from writing, "You would?"

"It's only right, really."

How old fashioned he is, she thought, not usually the type she went for. A little bit worn around the edges, older than her, always in a shirt and tailored trousers, always so very proper. But he was handsome, behind the tweed exterior, and she had always liked tall men.

"There's my address then too." She tore off the paper and handed it to him, amused as he folded it and placed it in his shirt pocket.

"Excellent," he said, fumbling now with the stack of wrapping paper in front of him, unsure what to do with his hands.

"I'll look forward to it." She picked her bag up. "Until Thursday."

She was heading to the door and he found his eyes on her backside – he couldn't recall the last time he'd stared at a woman's sway as she walked.

"Oh, wait, Elsie."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, "Yes?"

"Do you like Italian food?"

"I do, very much."

And then she was gone and she'd accepted – she'd accepted(!) – his grin didn't disappear for the rest of the day.

* * *

**Present Day**

An hour later they're in a shared taxi heading back to Harrogate and it's silent and painful. She tips her head against the cool glass and watches the bright blue sky sweep by, she must have fallen to sleep because the next thing she knows he's waking her and they're in her street.

The taxi stops, the driver gets out and Charles follows him, "I'll just be a moment," he tells him, taking hold of her case.

He follows her upstairs to her flat, and she has that twisted feeling of being back home and back to reality and not being ready for it.

Beryl has been watering her plants and she's clearly cleaned as it smells like lavender in the room.

"I'll call you later," he says putting her case in the hall.

"Oh, okay - you don't want to stay, have a drink?"

"I best get back to the shop."

She feels something sharp in her chest. "Alright, if you're sure. Call me later then, and let me know which weekend you want to start packing up books and moving out shelves." She says, trying to lighten the mood.

"I will, I er, well I need to think it through, decide what I'm going to do."

She feels crestfallen. She reaches for his hand by her door, stopping him before he goes, his palm is a little clammy, "Don't not do it now, not because of me. I'm really not worth that." She leans forward and kisses his cheek. "I had the most wonderful time Charles."

She squeezes his hand again and then he's gone, out of her flat, out of her building, and the taxi is pulling off and he wonders if that's it, if that's the end of it all.

* * *

_Continued love for all the comments - I'm enjoying all the debate, especially regarding Elsie's behaviour. Don't worry, the holiday may be over but they've still got a long way to go..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Couple of points for this chapter – I highly recommend listening to two of the songs mentioned here in order to understand Charles' motives and Elsie's response.  
'My Favourite Faded Fantasy' watch?v=Rh1C8qpODZs  
__'I Don't Want to Change You' watch?v=TYYdQ_Z-c6s._

_And finally major, MAJOR thanks to mrpoohminnie for actually __making the boat picture mentioned in this chapter, if you haven't seen it, go to tumblr to check it out! And the picture Charles tries to print can be found on there too._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**Post holiday blues**

He didn't call that night. Nor the next day. She had lunch with Beryl and found herself crying in the toilets mid-way through, unable to admit to her oldest friend that things had been perfect until that last day. She doesn't want anyone to know she fucked it up. She doesn't want to admit it to herself. So instead she tells her all the good stuff: the sights, the weather, the food. And they laugh and Beryl teases her about her sex life and she has flashbacks of his mouth on her breasts and his voice moaning her name and has to excuse herself to cry in a cubicle.

"Are you alright?" Beryl asks when she returns and she blames it on jet lag and goes home to sleep the rest of the day away.

Sunday comes and her holiday is almost forgotten. The fading tan lines where her bikini straps were only a slight reminder. Her holiday clothes are washed, ironed and put away. She's buried the silk nightgown at the bottom of her drawer and by lunchtime she's at her dining table preparing lessons and checking emails and life seems as it was.

He calls in the evening, she expected Anna when she answered the phone, instead it's Charles' voice.

"It's me," he states gently. "Wanted to see how you are, before school starts."

She has to sit, places the phone on the table and puts him on speaker, staring at the photo of him that comes up when he calls – Charles in Edinburgh with her, fireworks in the background, New Year celebrations.

"It's come around too soon," she says, folding her hands together. "I don't want to go back."

"I can understand that. I keep thinking where we were this time last week… The museums."

"The boat ride." She breathes deeply, remembering the night that followed that. That glorious, passionate night. She'd never felt so thoroughly loved, so completely worshipped.

He swallows, awkwardly she thinks, "Yes, the boat ride."

She coughs, deciding this is silly; they lived together for a week, now they can't even talk? "Would you like to have dinner this week?"

"Won't you be busy?"

"Probably, but I'd still like to. I'd like to see you."

"Well, call me if you know you're free, or text." He says non-committedly.

She knows he hardly ever replies to texts. He doesn't even notice when they've come through and she's turned the volume up twice on his handset.

"I will. We could go to that Italian you like so much."

"Yes."

"Thanks for calling Charles."

"I wasn't sure if I ought to…" He says, his voice dangerously low.

"Why ever not? Charles, I don't want this to…" She feels she might cry again and can't understand why she's so emotional of late.

"To what?" He hopes she'll say 'end', he hopes she'll say she loves him and she was wrong.

But instead she shakes her head, "I still want to see you."

He's never been in love before and if this is the pain it brings he never wants to be again.

"Have a good day tomorrow," is all he says.

"Thank you. And you."

"Night Elsie."

"Goodnight Charles."

She cries again that night.

* * *

Charles feels like he lost the weekend, he tried to shop on Saturday and ended up standing in M&amp;S staring at milk trying to remember which one it was he bought. He decided he wasn't hungry anyway and left his trolley in the middle of an aisle, walking away from it like some crazy old man.

On Sunday Thomas knocked him up at 7:45 – usually he'd be up but he felt like hell when he opened the back door and found him standing there smoking like a chimney.

"What the hell are you doing? It's Sunday morning, I was in bed."

"I haven't been to bed yet, well, not my own."

"Please, don't tell me you're on your way home from another tryst."

He threw his cigarette to the floor, "Absolutely and coming here for breakfast."

"I'm not sure I've got anything in. And you can pick that up before you leave."

They sit in Charles' small kitchen, Thomas drinking coffee as Charles scrambles eggs and makes toast.

"I thought I'd catch you out anyhow," Thomas says. "Thought she'd be here - what's her name again?"

"Elsie."

"That's it, I always want to say Elly or Ella. Though why you've chosen her when you and I could be Harrogate's answer to Elton and David."

"Dating you would be akin to pouring salt into an open wound," Charles served the eggs. "You never have relationships."

"No, just great sex. Thanks mate."

As Charles watches him eat he once again can't remember for the life of him why he's friends with Thomas, he bumped into him at a street market over seven years ago, they were both looking at the same book and got talking and from that point he's been stuck with him.

He doesn't mind really, he makes him laugh; he reminds him there's another side to life he knows absolutely nothing about.

"So, how was it?"

"The trip? Fantastic."

"I meant the sex…"

"Thomas." Charles warned sitting down across from him.

"Come on," he says through a mouthful of toast, "Tell me you got laid mate."

"I'm not answering that."

"What's up, you're even stuffier than usual?"

"I don't mean to be. Elsie and I…"

"What? Don't tell me you've crossed to the dark side and got engaged?"

Charles shook his head, "Far from it."

"She sacked you off?"

"What a ridiculous phrase."

"Not rosy in paradise though?"

"We just had a few… She's not ready for something serious." He finally settles on. Wondering why he's defending her.

"Then enjoy it, that's the joy of a casual relationship – you can have who you want, when you want."

"And I have women queuing up."

"You're a catch, just get out there and ask. This Elsie woman's the first one I've ever known you take out."

"She's the only one I liked." He rubbed his forehead, aggravated with thinking about it – it had been continuous since he'd got home. "Not sure what's happening now, not sure if we're together or not."

"She dump you? What a bitch!"

"Don't call her that, she didn't 'dump' me."

"You dump her - you cad?!"

He licked his lips, "Maybe, I don't know. Maybe I did."

"Bloody hell, why, in all seriousness now, you actually like her."

"I love her Thomas," he says honestly. He wouldn't usually admit things like that to him but he needs to talk to somebody. Get it out of his head. "And she doesn't feel the same." He groaned, shaking his head. "So now I understand why you flit from guy to guy, just keep it simple and have fun, you've got it right."

"No. I'm just searching for the one too, we all are."

Charles offers him a small smile and nods, everyone just wants to be loved at the end of it all, even Thomas.

"You listen to that album I left you – weeks ago now?"

"No, not yet." Truth be told he'd forgotten where it was.

"Then give it a go, it'll suit your mood too."

When Thomas leaves to go home to bed Charles goes down to the shop. The blinds are still shut and he loves it when it's like that. Dusty and dark. He can smell the books, run his hands along the shelves; he knows where everything is and where it can be found. The problem is a lot of the time his customers can't. He spends a lot of his day pointing things out. Elsie has told him countless times to get signs up.

In a split decision he goes into the back room, turns on the light and grabs handfuls of boxes. He doesn't know how long he's been stacking them up in there but they reach floor to ceiling. The room's not a bad size when you really look.

He steps back into the corridor, the dividing wall could be removed, open it up, he can see where tables would fit, how he could make it more open-plan, brighter, fresher.

With the boxes in his hands he goes back to the store and grabs handfuls of books off shelves, filling and labelling boxes as he goes then carrying them upstairs to his spare room.

He only stops when he feels himself getting hungry and realises it's after two and he's emptied three-quarters of she shop.

Whilst making a sandwich he spots the CD Thomas gave him on top of the fridge. "Damien Rice – my favourite faded fantasy." He says reading the title aloud. He scans through the tracks waiting for the kettle to boil and tucks it under his arm as he goes back downstairs, sticking it into the player in the shop and taking out the classical background music he usually has on in there.

He eats a sandwich sitting on the floor, mapping out on a piece of paper how things might look, and listening to the music. It's not bad, he likes the string work, and the lyrics, some strike a chord and he leaves it playing – at least he can give it back to Thomas next time he sees him and offer an opinion.

He needs a builder.

There used to be a man he knew, a friend of a friend, and he digs around in his desk drawer searching for the number. He did some work for him years ago, well for his mother, when they had trouble with damp in the walls.

By the time he's made arrangements for the builder to visit and cost it up for him, and emptied all the shelves and started taking them down, it's early evening and he's exhausted. He showers, makes pasta and sits alone at his kitchen table eating.

His camera is on the table and he turns it on, flicking through the pictures until he finds the one of them together on the boat. He looks happy, sun kissed, relaxed, and he thinks she does too, he genuinely thinks she looks happy. Before he's thought it through he's calling her and having a stunted, awkward conversation that convinces him he's wrong – she can't at all have been happy in that picture.

Returning downstairs he puts the CD on again and stands in the passageway staring at the wall between the shop and the storeroom. _'You could be my favourite taste to touch my tongue…'_ he hears the young man sing and he taps against the wall – it sounds hollow.

_'You could have my favourite face and favourite name.'_ He finds a curled edge of wallpaper and pulls at it, tearing a strip off.

_'You could be my favourite place I've ever been.'_ His heart is hammering as he rips at the paper. _'What it all could be, with you.'_ The decoration has been that way for so many years that bits of plaster fall off with the paper._ 'I could love you more than life if I wasn't so afraid.'_ In the back of the cupboard he has a small toolbox, he flips the lid, finds what he's looking for and smashes the hammer into the wall.

Soon he's formed a small hole – he was right, it is hollow. _'I've never loved no one like you!'_ He continues hammering late into the night.

He needs the distraction.

* * *

Elsie is up at 5:30 Monday morning, back to her routine, by 6:30 she's leaving home, by 6:45 making her usual Costa stop. She orders a large latte for a change, and stands in line waiting, flicking through the emails on her phone as she does so.

She's surprised to find there's one from 'Mr. C. Carson.' Nothing in the subject field – which isn't surprising, he often forgets that bit. There's nothing in the main body neither, only an attachment. She clicks on it and its loading as she collects her coffee and muffin and heads out back to her car. She'd gone with bare legs, wanting to show off her tan, but it feels a little fresh and she's already regretting it.

She connects her phone to the car, starts the engine and turns out of the car park back onto the main road, waiting at a red light. The sun is still low, but burning and she has to find her sunglasses to shield her eyes, the strains of violins fill the silence and she glances at her phone on the passenger seat, the track has loaded.

_'Wherever you are, know that I adore you.'_ She catches her breath. Gripping the steering wheel, her chest feels tight, then the car behind her revs its engine and she glances in her mirror and realises the lights have changed.

She pulls out quickly, driving her route to work without even having to think about it. She turns up the volume on the stereo and starts the track again, listening carefully to the lyrics.

_'I've never been with anyone in the way I've been with you. But if love is not for fun, then it's doomed.'_

She's glad of her sunglasses by the time she's pulled into the school car park because tears are streaming down her face. She tips the contents of her handbag onto the passenger seat and finds a tissue, quickly wiping away evidence of her reaction. Part of her can't believe he's sent her that, she didn't even realise he listened to that kind of music, it was always opera and classical when she was at his flat. She once put the local radio on in the car and he'd complained non-stop about the drivel they make.

Unplugging her phone she gathered her things and scurried into school, it was 7:05, nobody about to bother her.

In her classroom she googled the song and found a link to the album it was from – as she readied herself for the day she let it play in the background, thinking she might download it later. Clearly it meant something to him and she'll have to reply to his email but she isn't quite sure what to say yet. There's a reason he emailed it and didn't say anything over the phone and she understands that, it can be easier to explore your feelings without being face-to-face.

"Come on love, briefing." Phyllis says, swinging open the classroom door.

Elsie glances to the clock, "Is it that time already?" She stops the music. "Good job I have you to organise me."

They both know the only reason Phyllis is Head of the History Department is because Elsie didn't apply for it, she didn't want the responsibility, more than happy to 'just teach' as she puts it.

"Have a good break?" She asks as a couple of students come into the room, dumping their bags.

"Great, cycling around Spain." Phyllis rolls her eyes, "Joseph has a twisted idea of what relaxation is."

"Looking brown, Miss." One of the students says before disappearing outside, a football tucked under his arm.

"You are, how was Dubai?"

She's still fiddling at her computer, locking the screen before looking up. "Oh, wonderful, really wonderful. I highly recommend it for relaxation."

They walk together to the staff room. "You went with that guy you've been seeing – Charles?"

"Yes."

"Been a while now hasn't it, you should bring him to the summer do, meet us scary lot."

Elsie smiles, a calm mask upon her shaky waters. "I might."

* * *

First day back exhaustion has taken hold before it even reaches 4p.m. and she gets away early, nipping to the supermarket and then home. The mundane tasks need to be carried out, even if she wishes she could block it all.

She sets up her laptop on the kitchen table and waits for her emails to load as she puts a vegetable lasagne in the oven for dinner. Cooking is not top of her priorities so thank god for Sainsbury's.

Sipping a glass of wine she stares at his open email, tapping her fingers across the keys as she waits for inspiration.

_'Thank you for the song.'_ She puts. Stares at it. Then backtracks and deletes it.

_'Charles,' _she starts again._ 'I'm impressed with how quickly your technology skills have come on. Attaching a track to an email…!'_

She sits back, stares at the screen and sips some more wine.

One again the sentence is deleted.

_'Charles, I listened to the track this morning and it's been in my head all day.' _She pauses, breathes deeply, running the words through her mind.

_'I found it both touching and upsetting and I understand why it obviously struck a chord with you. I don't want to try and encapsulate my feelings for you, for us, in an email. I want to talk things through but I know how badly I hurt you and I know you need time and I'm more than willing to wait and allow you that.'_

She reads it through twice and happy it reads okay continues.

_'But I do want to try and address some of the things the song touched upon. I know what a private man you are and what it cost you to ask me out in the first place and I feel privileged that you did ask because you are such a good man and you deserve so much happiness. It may seem like I've used you but believe me that is not the case and I've enjoyed each moment we've spent together since last August, especially this past week – it was the most human I've felt in such a long time. I'm honoured that of all the women in the world I'm the one you love, but I don't feel able to respond to that right now. And I honestly don't mean to hurt you with that sentence, though I fear that, however I phrase it, I will._

_You have such a loving heart and you've given me so much and right now I feel like I've thrown that back at you – those things I said were awful, unforgivable, and yet I am asking for your forgiveness because I do want to continue seeing you. All I can say is, I'm human, I make mistakes. There is nothing 'simple' about you Charles, or about us, as I've gotten to know you I've realised just how much you have to give, at the beginning I didn't expect you to be who I now know you are – if that makes sense. I'd spoken to you on and off for the past seventeen years and never once did I suspect there was such a warm, passionate man beneath the surface and maybe that's shocked me. I don't think you emotionally repressed, I turn that phrase on myself because I am the one who can't deal with her emotions, you are freely exploring yours and I think that's wonderful. Please, don't change._

_I hope that in time we can meet and try to move forward._

_Yours,_

_Elsie xx'_

She debates for five minutes over whether to put a kiss then reads it through for at least another ten before biting the bullet and pressing 'send'.

That's as honest as she can be right now and she feels a sense of relief and anxiousness when the message is gone.

* * *

He doesn't know why he printed a picture of her but he has. He did it on his printer and the colour was faded and the paper loaded incorrectly and she came out wonky, with lines on her face.

He spends a long time staring at it remembering when it was taken; a restaurant one night, her hair was tousled from being on the beach and she was laughing at his joke and looking out at the view of the sea and he snapped it quickly. She complained but when she saw it agreed he could keep it, it wasn't too bad.

But this version doesn't do it justice. He screws it up and throws it away, deciding to get it done right.

He takes his camera with him to the supermarket, he'd seen a printing thing in there where you could just choose the pictures you wanted and he spends twenty minutes messing with it before an assistant comes over.

"Can I help sir?"

He thinks she should have said "may I" but he lets it go in exchange for her expertise.

"I just want to print one, can this thing do that?"

"Yes sir, of course." She taps the screen, she has long, bright pink nails that sound like plastic when they tap against the screen, especially her small nail that has thick glitter on it. Charles can't understand how she can get anything done with nails like that.

Soon he sees his holiday photos appear on the screen, "Ahh, its that one." He says pointing at it.

"Okay, so you click it, see how it gets a little tick here. Then you press next, you can choose the size – there are examples on the wall there for you to check which is best."

He looks them over before going for the large one, it costs more but he doesn't mind.

"So now we choose that, just press here and then you get a receipt." She waits for it to print, "Pretty picture, is that your wife?"

He doesn't know what she is. He settles on "Girlfriend." Though to think of himself as having a 'girlfriend' at his age seems odd, though the assistant doesn't seem surprised by it. "Well, it's a pretty picture, were you on holiday?"

"Dubai. Just outside of Dubai."

"I've always wanted to go there."

"I highly recommend it."

"I might try and talk my boyfriend into it. Okay, so I'll take that copy, you have that one and in about 45 minutes your picture will be ready."

"45 minutes? That quick?"

"Yes, we don't have many waiting and its just one shot so I can rush it through."

"Well, I'll just have a wander about then and come back."

"Okay."

And off he goes, feeling a slight sense of triumph.

Later, he's making fish pie – the wander around the store encouraged him to do something nice for dinner. And he's poured wine and put the pie in the oven and decides to read his emails – he's been getting many more online orders since Elsie fixed his website last year and he likes to be prompt with them.

There are three orders, lots of rubbish and one from E. Hughes.

He steadies himself before opening it, sitting down and reading slowly, carefully.

It is the timer on the oven that stops him reading some 35 minutes later. He's gone through every word, every line, pictured her writing it, tried to paint her as a cold villain, then an affectionate friend. He can't reply – it's too raw – and besides he doesn't know what to say:_ I love you; I'll forgive you anything. I hate you; you've broken my heart – what the hell's wrong with me…?_

He'd forgotten he'd even sent the song late last night.

He glances up at the newly framed picture he's had done, propped up on a work surface waiting for him to decide where to put it. He can smell the pie burning but doesn't feel quite so hungry anymore.

* * *

_You have no idea how long Elsie's email took to write and, no lie, I was genuinely feeling emotional when I'd finished it. I think I'm spending too long writing…I need to get out more!_

_Thanks for all the feedback and comments. I feel we're really getting into the characters and their lives now they're back home and reality has hit._


	9. Chapter 9

_There's been some pretty strong comment/debate about the Elsie in this story - all I can say is she isn't meant to be the Elsie we know in the show. She's meant to have elements of her but this is a different Elsie in a different time and place._

_I hope that it comes across that I'm trying to show that people aren't straightforward and one dimensional - I don't want to say too much because it will ruin the story but please, stick with her. She's lovely, I know!_

_Time for them to communicate outside of the virtual world I think... and to see Elsie as a mother._

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Over the next week she emails him a few times, just a general _'how are you? How are the renovations going?'_ to keep the lines of communication open. He doesn't reply but she sends them anyway.

Then on Wednesday he sends her some pictures of her during the trip. Not him. Some of the scenery.

She creates a 'Dubai 2015' folder and saves them in there, flicking through them and imagining where Charles was when he took the photos, imagining what was going on besides what the camera snapped. Again, there is no title or message included, just the attachments.

Clearly he wants to communicate with her, just not verbally, and that's fine, she can cope with that. At least he hasn't retreated entirely. She responds, _thank you, they're beautiful, I hope you're well._

She has a parents' evening on Thursday and knows she'll finish late and it will be dark and she'll be tired and hungry and she wishes she were driving home to meet up with him, just for fast food (which he'd hate) and conversation to switch her off from work.

She calls him during her lunch break, tapping on her 'favourites' and finding his number at the top. It rings for a while and she wonders if he's seen her name and is ignoring it. She stares at the firework picture of him again and feels angry with herself for calling but then it clicks and there's coughing and noise.

"Hello," she asks frowning.

"Elsie? Hi, didn't realise it was you."

In the background she can hear banging and drills. "Where are you?" She asks confused.

"I've got builders in," he says, covering one ear to hear her over the din.

"Have you? I'm so pleased."

He shrugs, "Just some changes. Look I can't talk, I've got to supervise or it will all go to pot."

She jumps in quickly before he can hang up, "Have dinner with me, tonight, just something simple, somewhere quick, just to meet up."

He hesitates, "I can't. I can't get away."

She thinks he can but accepts it. "Oh, okay. I'll call in a few days then, see how it's going."

"Yeah, great. Take care."

They hang up, neither satisfied.

* * *

There's another email late Friday night when she's lying on the sofa working (on a Friday night!) and slowly making her way through a bottle of wine and she opens it with a mixture of annoyance and hope.

More pictures from their trip, but this time they're all the shots he left out before, the ones of them together. And she spends longer going through them.

She downloads them all and responds, _'Thank you very much for these, they're all gorgeous. We had so much fun! x E.'_

She decides enough is enough and turns her laptop off for the night, no more work, and heads into the kitchen to find the takeaway menu for the Chinese down the road when she hears her phone bleep.

Another email. He responded instantly. She swipes her finger across it hesitantly, expectantly,_ 'You're welcome. CC.'_

She stands dumbfounded, frustrated – with herself, with him – in the middle of her kitchen. And throws her phone aside, returning to her earlier task of finding the menu.

Biting her lip she opens it again: email, reply, _'How's the building work going?'_

_'Slowly. Messily. Expensively.'_

She smiles,_ 'Nice use of adverbs.'_ And presses send.

It takes longer for him to respond this time, there's no need to really, so she's almost giddy when his message pops up in her inbox again, '_I got a good education.'_

She sinks into the sofa, turning the phone over in her hand, is this how teenagers feel, waiting and debating what and how to communicate? Bloody ridiculous. She wants to just have him there, talk this through like adults.

Deciding to be grown up she texts, _'I'm ordering Chinese food – come over…?'_

It's ten minutes before he responds and she feels sick with waiting, three words, '_I can't. Sorry. x.'_

She wonders if he meant to put a kiss or if it was a slip-up, habit, then she curses herself for being so adolescent and orders her food.

Whilst lying on the sofa waiting for it she decides to respond once more, _'I'm sorry too. Elsie.'_

* * *

Luckily Anna comes home, turning up way after eleven – with piles of washing and piles of revision.

"I didn't expect you honey," she says when she hears the key turning in the lock and goes to the hall to greet her, finding her dragging in bags.

"Last minute decision thought I'd come and see you, not seen you since your holiday."

Elsie hugs her, closing her eyes and forcing herself not cry on her daughter's shoulder. "So good to see you," she says instead. She squeezes her waist, "You're so skinny. Are you eating?"

Anna rolls her eyes, "Mum, I'm 25 now."

"I don't easily forget that," she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her daughter's ear. "There's leftover Chinese though, if you're hungry."

"I think I'll just sleep actually, been pulling all-nighters this week and I'm knackered." She shrugs her jacket off and Elsie watches her hang it up and take a duffel bag and plod off down the hall to her room (she wonders for how much longer it will be regarded as 'her room').

"You want me to make you some cocoa?"

"No, its fine, see you in the morning."

"Night sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you too mum." Anna says closing her bedroom door.

She stands in the hallway surrounded by carrier bags of washing feeling redundant.

There's been no more emails but that doesn't stop her checking her phone several times during the night.

* * *

Anna sleeps through until lunch on Saturday and Elsie empties her bags and washes her clothes and makes French toast and fresh coffee. It feels good to have her there, to have some company, she doesn't want to admit she's lonely, that she hasn't seen him for weeks and she feels wretched.

"So, show me the pictures." Anna says, sitting in Elsie's kitchen wearing her Prada sunglasses despite the fact it's cloudy out. "I need to see the real version of this," she laughs picking up the stuffed crocodile.

"That was truly awe-inspiring, I've never seen such a giant creature. And in a mall, of all places."

"Pictures…" Anna prompts again.

"I erm, have them on my laptop." She fetches it from the lounge and switches it on, watching Anna eat the toast as the computer loads.

"Here you go, don't feel you have to flick through them all, there's quite a few in the album."

She turns away as Anna looks, sipping her coffee and standing by the kitchen window staring at the traffic below, thinking of the tranquillity of two weeks ago. Anna's responses are a mixture of giggles and_ 'aww' _and_ 'he's so tall' _and_ 'mum, you look pretty.'_

"They're great mum," she says when she's finished, "and these are great too," she says waggling the glasses. "I feel very spoilt."

Elsie shrugged, "I decided I'd be saving a fortune on books as you finally finish university this year!"

"Well, and because you're probably in a good position to get great discount on books now. He looks really nice. Are you seeing him later?" She notes Elsie's expression, "Mum, what's happened?"

"We argued."

"When? You never said."

"Before we left, you remember I texted you…"

Realisation dawns and Anna swallows the piece of toast she's chewing, "Oh, mum, tell me you didn't freak out!"

"Why do you say that? As if you expected it."

"Because I did, you've been seeing him for ages now and yet you hardly speak of him or bring him to anything. Logic states that if you didn't like him you wouldn't still be seeing him, or have spent New Year with him, or gone on holiday with him. So I figured it was because of Dad, rather than you not liking Charles."

Her head snaps round to look at her daughter, "Why him?"

"Look, he's my dad and I love him, but he can be a real arse with you at times."

"Don't be like that about him."

"I'm just being honest, I'm not a child anymore mum and I see how he is, and how you are…"

"And how am I, weak I suppose?"

"No, but you seem to act like you owe him something. And yet you've been so much better without him – renting this place, your hair, the clothes, and dating. Just fuck him off!"

"Anna!"

"I mean it, get him out of your system now. Keep dating."

"I haven't _dated_ though have I? I've been seeing one man."

"Is that what bothers you, that there might be better out there?"

"No, that's never crossed my mind. Never once. Look in my family when you marry you stay married."

"Mum, you're not a failure because you got divorced. You were unhappy. We both know he was screwing around behind your back for years, we knew it."

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Guess what mum, we are. I know you lost your confidence, I know that. But Dad has you round his finger, he isn't the only man that can care for you and you have to realise that."

"I know. I'm not stupid."

"So…? Mum I don't want to argue with you but for fuck's sake."

"Your language."

"Screw that!"

They're both silent. Anna pushes the laptop aside and Elsie stands at the other side of the kitchen watching her, she's shaking, and her head feels muddled with half-remembered scraps of conversation – Joe, Anna, Charles, her parents.

"I don't know what to do. I tried calling and we've emailed but… I hurt him Anna. And I don't know how to take that back."

"It's your fault then?"

"Entirely."

"So apologise, if you really want to continue seeing him. Do you?"

"Yes, of course, we did have such a wonderful time together until then."

"Then do what all women do."

"What?"

"Put on a low cut dress and flirt."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "I'm not that kind of girl. And I think it's going to take a lot more than a bit of cleavage."

"Then find a way to show him."

* * *

She knew it was a mistake to let Anna talk her into going into town, it was under the pretence of needing clothes – which Elsie ended up paying for – and they wandered and had coffee but of course it got to late afternoon and she finally asked, "So, where is Charles' shop?"

"We're not going there!" Elsie warned.

"Yes, we are."

"Why? I'll be embarrassed, he'll be embarrassed, I haven't seen him in two weeks. We can't just turn up."

"Of course we can, I need a book."

"Then let's go to Waterstones."

"Sacrilege, surely he'd hate you for that."

"I think he hates me already. Please don't make me go, he's not the kind of man who reacts well to sudden change or unexpected events…"

Anna turned her phone screen to her mother, "There, we're less than ten minutes walk away."

"I really hate technology at times."

* * *

As it happened the shop was 'Closed for refurbishment' which made her very happy – he was doing the work, and quickly too.

"What a let down," Anna said.

"But he's renovating, like we discussed." Elsie smiled then grimaced when she saw her daughter press her face up to the glass. "Anna, stop that!"

The door opened and a builder popped his head, "Can we help you love?"

Elsie shook her head but Anna spoke, "Is Charles around?"

The builder shouted back over his shoulder, "Pretty young lass looking for our Carson."

Elsie blushed, God he'd hate that. Her stomach tightened as she hears his voice from inside, "The ad hasn't even gone in the paper yet." And then he's outside and staring at her, and he's lost his voice.

She folds her hands behind her back, he has dust in is hair but he's still brown, hers faded almost immediately, and those kind eyes seem to be smiling at her.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi." She says back, unsure what else to do.

They stare at each other for a moment then he smiles, gesturing behind him, "Work has started."

"So I see. Going well?"

He frowns, "Messy. How are you?" He says gently, stepping closer to her. "How have you been?"

"Okay," because what else can she say? "How have you been?"

"Okay, busy, messy. As I said. Living in a building site is not recommended…" Then he pauses, noticing a young girl hovering around behind Elsie.

"This is the pretty young lass," she states, reaching for Anna's arm and pulling her closer.

"Oh my goodness," he remembers their brief meeting from months ago. "Anna." He holds his hand out to her. "So nice to see you again, how are the exams going?"

"Well, they haven't quite started yet, three weeks to go. I'm having my last Saturday off."

"And spending it with me," Elsie smiles hooking her arm through her daughter's.

"I can think of no one better." He says instinctively.

Anna bites her lip, a trait she's inherited from her mother. They're cute, too cute. "We're going to have some pizza, why don't you join us?"

He stutters, flustered by the request – he likes organisation, forward planning, "I don't want to intrude, I'd be in the way."

"No, you wouldn't." Anna says. "We're only going to Pizza Express."

He tugs on his shirt nervously, "You'll think me terribly old fashioned but I don't know what that is."

Elsie smiles and without thinking touches his arm, "Don't worry, it's a chain."

"I'm guessing they serve pizza fast."

"Mum said you like Italian food."

"I do," he can't help but feel both warm and surprised that she's told her that. "Hence this." He chuckles, patting his stomach.

"There's nothing wrong with you," she says kindly, "Though he likes Noci's for his Italian food."

"Well," he swallows, "the builders don't finish til 5:00…"

"It's ten to," Anna says quickly.

"And I have to change, I'm dusty."

Anna prods her mum in the back, and Elsie blurts out, "We have to go to the Pharmacy anyway, before it closes, we can come back for you."

She holds his gaze, hoping he can see she wants to at least try and make things better.

"Alright, I'll just change. But let's not go to this fast place, let me try and ring Umberto and see if he can find us an early slot there instead."

"That would be lovely," Elsie agrees.

"He's a real gent," Anna says as they walk away. "What are we going to the pharmacy for?"

"Nothing. I made that up when you prodded me." She whispered.

"Well, we can get condoms, I reckon you've got more than a chance still with him."

"Anna! I am NOT discussing such things with you. And as if I need them at my age."

"Protection is important mother, not just for unwanted pregnancies."

"Stop it."

* * *

45 minutes later and they're seated at L'Albero Delle Noci, a lovely window table and Charles has ordered wine and Elsie feels bad for not being dressed up, her hair is loose and has curled in that awkward, natural way it has because she hadn't even made an effort for just going to town with her daughter and she's wearing flat sandals and a loose blue jersey top over trousers. Anna looks fantastic in anything so it doesn't matter that she's in jeans and a jacket. And of course when they got back to Charles he'd put on a neatly pressed shirt and perfectly shined shoes.

She feels out of place and exposed in front of him – more so than she did when they were doing what they did in that villa bedroom.

"So much to choose from," Anna says trying her best to create a jovial mood. "Will either of you mind if I order garlic prawns to start, or even if I have a starter?"

"Seeing as you won't be the one paying I shouldn't think it matters what you order," Elsie said, not looking up from her menu.

"That's why I have you dear mother."

Charles smiles at their easy banter, "And what will you have Els?"

Anna's head shoots up, a grin on her face.

He corrects himself quickly, coughing to cover his slip up, "…Elsie?"

"I think I might have just olives to start, or bread, I can't decide."

"Do you want to share?" He asks.

She moves her leg, catching his beneath the table, and looks up quickly, "Yes, let's."

"And this special pasta that's on the board, I can't pronounce it..."

Charles squints at the board, "I forgot my glasses," he says and she offers him hers. He peers through them and easily pronounces the dish.

"Wow, I'm impressed, nice accent." Anna says.

"I spent a year in Italy when I finished university. Travelling around with a friend." He hands her glasses back. "Thanks."

"You see that sounds like what I should be doing mum, rather than applying for jobs."

"But I wouldn't like that," Elsie slips her glasses on again to look at the wine selection. "Who would I have to eat Chinese food with on the sofa whilst watching a movie? And who would fund such a trip? After just funding a Masters degree?"

"I worked," Charles chipped in.

"I could work, in a little coffee shop or something, maybe I could try and get in a gallery over there. A small one, as experience."

Elsie looks over the top of her glasses to Charles, "You're filling her head with things."

"Sorry," he says, genuinely worried he's caused a problem. Somehow it seems intensely important to him that Elsie's daughter likes him, not that he's at all certain where they stand or what the status of their relationship is. He'd hate to be back as friends, though he'd hate to lose her completely even more, so maybe that's what he'll have to settle for.

But then she touches him, brushes his arm, as she did outside of the shop, or his leg under the table, and looks at him and surely it can't only be he who feels the connection. Lonely nights since they've returned and he's thought of their nights in Dubai, that passion, that intensity, the things they did, the way she made him feel…

"So sir, two pretty ladies with you tonight."

Charles stands to shake the waiter's hand, clearly he knows him well.

"I'm not sure if you remember Elsie," she reaches up to shake the waiter's hand, "And this is her daughter Anna."

"Hi," Anna waves from her spot by the window.

They let Charles order and then Anna asks, "So, you've brought mum here before then?"

Charles swallows his wine, glancing at Elsie, "We had our first date here, I guess you'd call it a date."

"If you had dinner and brought her flowers then in my book it's a date." Anna said smiling – and Elsie thought back to the beautiful bouquet he brought her that night when he picked her up. He insisted on picking her up. On paying a taxi to bring him out of town and then back in just to be gentlemanly, to do it right. With Charles very often things were about the style, the show, and she'd grown used to it, she'd grown used to ways that others may grow annoyed with.

"So, your course," he said to Anna, "Art History, tell me what it entails."

She listens to them chat, is content to sip her wine and then nibble at the bread and olives when they arrive. Charles is polite and friendly and asks the right questions and shows the right interest. And Anna is happy to chatter on about what she does and what she's hoping to do.

"I guess a passion for history runs in the family then." He smiles, looking at Elsie – she seems quiet to him and he's worried.

"Certainly didn't get the smart genes from my Dad." Anna giggles as she gets up, "won't be a moment, going to wash my hands."

Charles refills their wine and they both watch the shadows play across the liquid's surface as the candlelight flickers. The restaurant is getting busier now and night has fallen, the setting more intimate.

"Thank you," he says, "For bringing Anna, it's nice to meet her properly."

She lifts her wine glass to take a sip; needing the support it offers."I always wanted her to meet you." She says softly, aware they're just dancing around a rather delicate subject.

"You're quiet, have I offended you, coming for dinner, changing your plans and bringing you here?"

She swallows her wine a little too quickly, shaking her head, "Not at all, not in the slightest. I like it here, and I… I wanted to see you." She lowered her voice, suddenly finding smoothing the tablecloth very interesting. "Thank you for the emails."

He was embarrassed, each one had made him feel like a child playing a game but he couldn't seem to cut dead all communication with her – that would be too hard.

"I enjoyed the music," she looked up at him, trying to read his expression. "I bought the album."

He smiled, "So did I, Thomas is a huge fan and apparently the guy's only done three albums so I bought them all."

She's glad of his sudden enthusiasm. She spreads her hand across the table towards him, her fingers tingling in anticipation, "I really have mi…"

"Did I miss much?" Anna asks as she pushes past her mum to sit down.

"Not really," Charles states, leaning back in his chair. "We were just discussing the changes I'm having done to the shop, the builder quoted me six weeks but I fear it's going to take at least double that."

"How come?"

"Because Anna, as your mother will attest to, I'm quite a fussy old so-and-so and I like things being done a certain way."

"You're not that fussy," Elsie interrupts, realising she's already finished her glass of wine again - that's two already. She needs to eat to soak it up.

"Your mother's being nice, I am, it's a miracle she put up with it all these months. I like things to be just so."

"Fair enough, when it's your shop. And hey don't worry about having personality traits, mum has her own."

"Do I?"

"You ever seen her try to take tablets?"

"Oh, don't start with that."

"She has this thing about taking tablets…"

"I do not."

"A fear of choking on them or something, even the tiniest aspirin."

Elsie is shaking her head in denial and despair but Charles is laughing at Anna's impression of her trying to swallow.

"All hell breaks loose when she's ill and the Doctor gives her pills to take."

"Enough now, I'm suitably embarrassed."

"Really? I think I have more…" She's still giggling as their main courses arrive and Charles takes the moment to look at Elsie, he's sure he felt her foot touch his leg again beneath the table.

* * *

When the bill arrives Elsie grabs it before Charles can, she's not stupid, he's running a business and it's closed – at least she has a regular income.

"Don't even try, it's my turn."

She takes her purse and goes to pay and Charles stares after her, realising after a few minutes that Anna is staring at him, her chin propped up on her hands as she leans on the table.

"Give her time."

"Sorry?"

"Mum, just give her time. I don't know exactly what went on but she told me she hurt you and believe me when I say she's sorry. She's just scared, just take it slow."

"I thought I was, eight months of slow and then…" He shakes his head, "I'm not sure your mother is really interested in me Anna."

"Oh she is, believe me, she is."

He looks to the table, to his folded hands. "I can't be her band-aid, I tried to be, but…" He shrugged, "I need more. Which is the strangest thing in the world because I've never needed anybody."

"She is more. She can be. You must have seen that?"

He smiles, her daughter is as persistent as she is, "Yes, I've seen that. There were days out there where she was just…" he spies Elsie returning.

Anna speaks quickly, "Look, all I'm saying is don't give up. If you love her, wait."

* * *

They could take a taxi but Charles insists on driving them home, he deliberately stuck to one glass of wine with dinner and is still chattering to Anna when they pull up at Elsie's flat.

Anna makes her goodbyes quickly and then leaves them alone, standing on the street in the cool weather.

"Thank you for driving us home, and for dinner, it was lovely."

"Thank you for paying, you didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

They stand awkwardly, Charles has the feeling he's shuffling from foot to foot waiting for the right moment, the right thing to say.

"It's been so good to see you, Els…"

She reaches to hold his arm, "It's been so good to see you too, I really have missed you Charles."

She senses him draw back at her statement.

"Do you…want to do this again?" She asks hopefully.

He breathes deeply, "I don't know Elsie, I'm not sure that we… There's still unresolved things."

"Then let's resolve them, talk them through."

He pulls his arm from hers, "I'm not sure I can do it again."

Her shoulders sag, her heart sinks. "Oh…"

He feels awful. He feels like his stomach is being wrenched out through his throat. "That doesn't mean I don't want to see you, I want you to see the shop, to see the progress - they're your ideas."

She nods. He wants to be friends. He has every right to make that decision – every right – but God it hurts to know he has.

"I will, I'll try and pop in to have a look soon."

"I'll let you know when there's something to see."

She feels like she should hug him or shake his hand or something. But they seem to be back where they were last August, before that first date, making polite conversation – customer and shop owner. Strangers.

"Goodnight Charles."

"Goodnight."

* * *

An hour later she's in bed listening to the news, the build up to the election, and Anna is playing music next door as she takes a bath. She swirls the port in her glass, Charles bought her the bottle for Christmas as a joke after the whole 'cheese' incident and she's developed quite a taste for it.

Her phone bleeps and she sighs, she doesn't want to communicate with anyone right now.

A text, '_Thank you for dinner_. CC.'

'_You're welcome. x'_

The music goes off next door and she turns the volume down on the television as Anna comes in, crawling onto her mum's bed and snuggling beside her.

"That's my dressing gown you've got on."

"It was in the bathroom, forgot mine."

She may be 25, just, but Elsie had always shown her daughter that you're never too old for cuddles, so she rested her head against her mother's chest and enjoyed the feel of her playing with her hair.

"Are you worried?" Elsie asked.

"A little. Trying not to be. I try not to think how important the exams are." she mumbled, her voice covered slightly by the bed quilt.

"Call, whenever you feel overwhelmed, call and we'll talk it through. You're not too old to need that." She kissed her head, her damp hair.

"I could say the same to you." She felt her mother's chest expand as she breathed in and then out again. "You think tonight helped?"

"I don't know. I asked if he'd like to see me again but I think he may just want to be friends."

"That's crap."

Elsie smiled at her choice of words, "It is a bit crap."

"You were married at my age."

"And just pregnant with you."

"I can't imagine doing that."

"No, neither can I now. You want to watch a movie? Get in here with me and I'll make us some cocoa. We don't have to get up early tomorrow."

Anna nods, lifting her head up and climbing into her mum's bed, "I'll find a film."

"Alright."

Elsie gets up and goes to the kitchen, waiting for the milk to warm she turns on the laptop and once again flips through the pictures he's sent. There's one of them together by the pool, and she stares at it for the longest time, flicking her fingers over the screen to zoom in. She focuses on his kind eyes, but then more at herself, at her expression, her face, her eyes... she looks happy. And she was. So very happy.

* * *

_Sorry it's so much Elsie at the moment, there's a lot I need to explore with her, but don't fear Charles will get his moment. Thank you for getting so involved with this, some of you emotionally involved, and for engaging with the ideas. It's a really interesting exploration actually, reading all your comments and I didn't expect that when I started it. It was meant to just be a cute holiday fic - ha!_

_I'll try and update later today because we're getting to the crucial stage now!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Right... this chapter was by far the hardest to write, and I think I must have changed it at least twenty times yesterday and this morning. Today I've been glad to write something a bit gentler! But this is an essential part of the story so I hope it works..._

_There are some answers here, not all, and there's some upsetting stuff too - so be warned. I hope it helps a little in understanding our couple, especially Elsie._

_Also, in my mind the Joe featured here is not the one from the show. He'd be a much sexier, younger, rougher type of guy, bit of a Russell Crowe vibe going on maybe!_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Another week goes by and this time no communication. She's trying to accept it's over and she has nobody to blame for that but herself. She doesn't want to even think about the fact that what she might be feeing is heartbreak.

Her bad mood is permeating throughout the department, usually she's the fun one everyone likes – staff and students – hers is the only classroom packed with students at lunch, chatting to her, chatting to each other, working. This week it's been empty. It isn't like her to be so melancholy, to have such a bleak view on the world.

She knows she's been snappy and she wishes she could stop but somehow being rational doesn't take away her short fuse.

Friday lunch she's in her room attempting to get through a set of Year 13 essays, otherwise it will be a Sunday afternoon job, and Phyllis taps on her door and comes to sit by her, pushing a mug of tea in front of her.

"Elsie, what's wrong?"

"Excuse me?"

"We've worked together a long time and something's wrong, you've been late this week…"

"I hardly think that's a crime after twelve years of being here at 7 a.m."

"That's not what I meant. You're snappy, you argued with Spratt the other day."

"That's because Mr Spratt is a total tw…"

"Elsie. This isn't like you."

She bites her lip. Puts her pen down and sits back in her chair, folding her arms. "Are you giving me some kind of warning?"

Phyllis shakes her head, "Of course not. I'm here because we all love you and we're worried. You haven't been like this for years, not since before the divorce."

Ashamed, she looks at the table. A colleague having to talk to her in this way. How embarrassing.

"I'm sorry." She says. She seems to be doing a lot of apologising of late. "I'm having a few issues at home."

"With Anna?"

"No. No Anna's fine, getting ready for her final exams." She squared her shoulders, hoping to put Phyllis off digging anymore. "It's a personal matter."

"If you need anything you just ask – I don't care what it is. I want you here; you're the best damn teacher I have. Right!" She squeezes her arm supportively.

Elsie attempts a smile, "Right. Thanks."

* * *

She buys a pizza and a bottle of Pinot Grigio on her way home, not even stopping to chill it she drinks the first glass down straight. She seems to be drinking more lately and she's too afraid to question why that fact might be and it won't matter anyway because once she's drunk enough there won't be anymore questions.

Anna won't be there this weekend, Beryl is busy with her latest foster child and she can't think of anyone else she wants to see so it will be a weekend alone. An entire weekend alone, to sit and dwell and feel sorry for herself.

She runs the cold water in the kitchen and splashes it on her face. Of late she can't shift her dark mood, it can't all be down to Charles. But she doesn't know why it's surfacing now. She googled 'depression' two days ago and wondered if this was some late reaction to the divorce, or maybe to the idea of Anna being independent. Maybe her age. Changes to her body.

She cooks the pizza and pours more wine and settles on the sofa.

Her doorbell rings just after seven and she's annoyed because Emmerdale had just started and she's wearing nothing but an old shirt and bed socks and curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket.

She wraps it around her and goes to the door pressing the intercom.

"It's me sweetheart."

Joe.

"Bloody hell." She mutters, standing there with her hand over the intercom wondering what to do.

"Oh, it's fine, the other tenant is here." He says and she's startled because now he's in the building and coming up the stairs and she's not prepared for it. For seeing him again.

She takes off the chain and opens the door.

He's carrying a bottle of Johnnie Walker, "Fancy a drink, Elly?" He asks.

"What are you doing here?" She leans against the door.

"Had a lousy week and Sarah is away – Spain with friends – so I thought I'd have a drink with my oldest friend." He shakes the bottle in front of her face.

She huffs, debating with herself, "Come on babe," he says leaning on the door frame and she stands aside and lets him in.

She grabs glasses from the kitchen and joins him on the sofa, "Tell me you're not watching this shit Elly." He says indicating the soap opera on the television.

"I needed to relax."

"Bad week for you too?"

"Just busy." She tucks her legs under her and accepts the glass. "You know how this time of year is."

"I remember." He clinks his glass against hers, "here's to chilling then."

They find a film to watch, Joe turns the lights out, refills their glasses and they finish the rest of her pizza sitting side-by-side on the sofa.

An hour later she's dizzy and Joe is making her laugh as he drunkenly imitates the guy on the screen. And she'd forgotten how he could make her laugh. Then his hand is on her knee, and he's leaning forward, "You remember when we were kids like them, our first time in your Dad's barn. Scared to death I was gonna get my naked arse pounded."

"If he caught you he would have."

"Worth it though…"

Then he's kissing her and she's rigid, doesn't know what to do. It feels like it used to, like being married again and having the security of him being there.

She finds herself on her back on the sofa with Joe between her legs and she has her eyes closed as she tries to push the sour feeling away from her stomach. This wasn't how it was meant to feel.

She hears him unfasten the belt on his jeans, he pushes her knees apart, reaches to her knickers and pushes them aside and then he's on top of her again and she can feel his tongue on her neck and his penis against her and his belt is digging into her thigh. And it hurts."No," she suddenly gasps, her throat raw. "No, Joe, I don't want to." She scrambles up, instantly sober. Snatching back some semblance of sanity. She's panting, flustered. "I don't want to." She says again, on the verge of hysteria.

He sits back on the sofa confused, "But you did want to, I could feel you did. Like it used to be."

"I can't. We can't. You're married to somebody else, for goodness sake, and this can't happen, you have to stop coming to see me."

"I thought we were friends."

"Friends don't fuck on the sofa."

"Some friends do," he says, but he's fastening up his jeans and searching for his jacket and she can't believe she's 51 and screwing up in such a stupid way.

She's frozen by the wall, keeping the sofa between them, watching him, afraid of what this means, of who she is. Afraid she'll never move forward.

He calls a taxi.

"Elly…" He says making a move to come around to her.

"Don't, please just go. I don't want to see you anymore. Do you understand that? Don't come here again." She tries to keep her voice as steady as possible, to make her words clear.

To his credit he does as she asks and leaves and she races to the door after he's closed it, locking it, bolting it, collapsing against it and finally letting her tears fall. She can't stop crying. Shaking violently. Disgusted with herself. Hatred burns in her chest and she feels sick.

She scrubs her face, washes her body.

In the lounge she can smell him and she's revolted and scared at how close she came to having sex with him. What if he hadn't stopped? What if he hadn't taken no for an answer? She certainly wasn't innocent, she'd led him on, it could be argued that she had. She warned girls against being so bloody stupid.

* * *

Charles can't understand what she's saying when he answers the phone. Just that she's crying hysterically and its two in the morning and she's just yanked him from sleep.

"Elsie, you have to calm down," he says, scrambling out of bed, searching for trousers, trying to put the dammed phone on to speaker. He presses at buttons then her sobs fill his bedroom. "Elsie, honey, are you hurt? You aren't hurt, please, stay calm…" He finds a shirt, fastens it haphazardly and he's stumbling down the stairs, grabbing his keys and in the car before he can think.

He drives too fast. Curses red lights. He worries she's been attacked, he's never heard someone in such a state.

When he bangs on her door it seems to take an age for it to open and then she's in front of him, red faced and puffy eyes.

"I'm sorry," she sobs and he couldn't be more confused. "I'm so sorry for what I've done to you." He moves inside, closing the door behind him, trying his best to calm her, to touch her but she keeps backing away. "I'm such a horrible person and I'm so… I miss you… I don't know what to do, what I've done…"

Her words spill out, nonsensical, mumbled fragments of sentences interspersed with sobbing and hiccupping.

"Elsie," he says as gently as he can, reaching for her arms, "Elsie darling tell me what's happened."

"I can't, I can't. I'm so scared Charles. Why am I so scared of this?" She shakes her arms in front of her, her chest is red and blotchy and he's genuinely afraid she's hurt herself. "I don't want to be scared of this. I want it. I want you."

"Honey, don't be scared," he catches her elbows, stops her frantic movements, pulls her to him to hold her still, pressing her against him. "Elspeth, I'm here now. You don't have to be scared."

"Please don't leave me."

She sags against him after a while, her body weak and limp, and he easily lifts her up, carrying her through to the lounge and laying her down on the sofa. He sits beside her and she presses her face against him, crying against his chest.

He strokes her hair, mutters words of comfort and waits for her to calm, because he's not sure what else he can do but just be there.

* * *

Charles wakes with a rigid neck and Elsie's head in his lap. His arm is over her and he glances down to see she is gripping it with both hands.

He flexes his fingers, moves his other arm to touch her hair. "Elsie?"

She's asleep. He notices the half empty bottle of wine on the table, a bottle of whisky and two glasses. The room is dark and he's tired but he can't sleep like that. He lifts her head, slides out from the sofa and puts a cushion beneath her cheek. He's just stretching when he feels her catch his wrist, "Don't leave me." She begs and he has little choice but to squash behind her on the sofa, pulling a blanket over them.

The next time he wakes there's milky light in the room and his feet are freezing, dangling over the edge of the couch.

His arm is over Elsie and she seems to still be sleeping and for long moments he forgets about his cold toes as he watches her.

He's surprised when her body jolts quite violently and she mumbles something, as if in pain, then her body jerks again and she catches her breath and her eyes are wide as she stares at the back of the couch, disorientated.

"Are you alright?" He asks gently, not daring to move.

If she's startled by his presence she doesn't show it, just blinks a couple of times, "Just a dream I have."

He squeezes her hip, "Tell me."

She's never told anyone. Only Joe, when they first married. Yet in this oddly surreal moment she feels like she's been meaning to tell him since they met.

The room is heavy with silence, yet he doesn't push; he lays still behind her, his arm heavy over her waist, listening to her shallow breathing.

"My father used to beat my mother," she says suddenly into the dark, a cold, simple statement. "For as long as I can remember, we all knew but it was never spoken of." She paused, breathing deeply as if searching for the right words. "And this idyllic childhood I'm meant to have had with a large family on a working farm was riddled with fear, I remember at four years old knowing what fear was, always there, lurking on the edges of all you did."

She stops again, closing her eyes as if playing it out, concentrating on breathing – in and out – she can't seem to find the words but she knows she has to now, she's come this far and more than that, she wants him to know, it's important that he knows.

"This dream I have, I've had it for years. When I was 16 I was sent home ill from school, I'd been sick and off I went, no buses or calling home, you didn't back then, I just walked. The house was empty when I got in and I remember this cold feeling. I must have… I don't know why, I went out and toward the west barn and there was my father, beating my mother." She swallowed, her voice hollow as she recounted the event. "Slamming her head into one of those…one of those support beam things...I...I can't think of the name."

He squeezes her stomach as if reassuring her it doesn't matter, he daren't breathe for fear of breaking this fragile moment.

"And I did _nothing._ I watched, then I calmly walked back to the house and went to bed. I even poured myself a glass of milk then I went to bed." Her voice shuddered, "And that's what I dream of, because _I did nothing_." She spat the words out, "I was 16 years old and I let that happen to her. I didn't shout out or call for help or hit him with the bloody spade…."

"There was nothing you could do. You were a child."

"But I wasn't, I could have…" She stops when her voice breaks and takes her time before continuing, and he lets her, she needs this and perhaps in some way he needs to hear it too.

"I never told my mother, they didn't know I'd seen," she breathes deeply, her hand sliding over his on top of her stomach. She's crying now, he can hear it, and his heart aches for her. That scared girl confused about what she'd seen and what she could do. "I never told anybody." She says again, her voice wracked with sobs.

"Shh," he kisses her head, tries to hold her. "It's alright now."

She tries to turn onto her back, it's tight and she's squashed against the back of the couch but he does his best to accommodate her movement and soon she's staring up at him with watery eyes.

"I met Joe and left as soon as I could. You asked me, when we were away, if I'd ever wanted to go back and I haven't, never, I needed to escape so I married him. I was only just nineteen and we moved to Yorkshire and…" She shrugged. "When you're young you think love's enough, you never consider what might happen, how you might change. I'm not that terrified little farm girl anymore and if I saw that now I think I'd kill him. But then… I didn't know who I was or what life was, you know. My father had a way of making us all believe we were useless; I didn't do well in school, though I probably could have. We didn't have aspirations. He was subtle and sly in how he did it, you couldn't pinpoint a moment or a word, it was just always there and I grew up knowing little of the world beyond that farm."

He nodded, his thumb gently rubbing her hand that lay on top of his. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his heart thumping.

"Joe was my escape and I was grateful, he was older than me and in my eyes he saved me. And I loved him for that, but as the years went by and Anna was born I realised we were different in so many ways but I couldn't leave. Where would I go? A single parent. Back to Argyll? Never. So I stayed and in time I went back to school, put Anna in nursery, took my exams and studied to be a teacher and…" She swallowed, "And then here I am. This mess." Again she was quiet, staring up at the ceiling - the early morning shafts of light beginning to stream across it.

"If I met myself now, that stupid selfish girl…"

"You were a child," he said again softly. "Not selfish."

"I did nothing. Like I condoned it."

"No…"

She took a long shuddering breath and looked at him, "So, now you know my messy background. I'm not excusing anything, I'm not shirking my behaviour towards you, I'm a selfish person…"

She takes a deep breath, she's never admitted these fears to anyone, "Sometimes I think I must be my father's child. If he's in me I must be the same. The same genes. The same anger and hatred. The same destructive tendencies."

"No, you're not."

Her face crumples and he thinks she'll cry again but she holds her breath instead as if forcing it inside.

"Will you tell me what happened here tonight?"

"I'm sorry," her voice shakes as she recalls – she doesn't want to tell him but there's no half-measures now.

"Why are you sorry?"

"For calling you," she closes her eyes, "for dragging you into this mess. I didn't know who else… I didn't want anybody else. But you don't deserve this, any of it, it's my mess and somehow you've got dragged into it and I'm not sure how or why."

She's quiet again and he lies still, he feels like he might cry for her, over her, so he holds his breath instead and focuses on the gentle circular patterns he's forming on her hand with his fingertips. He has the image that the child inside of her is finally saying what she wanted to years ago.

"I've never been like that." She admits, "It shocked me, being so hysterical, I didn't know how to control it." She feels open to him, exposed, and everything's raw and painful.

She runs a hand through her hair, watching him watching her, he's so calm and solid, he's never flinched or pushed. "I should have had those hysterics years ago, when my father was still alive, I should have told him what I really thought of him."

He kisses the top of her head, "That doesn't make you a bad person, what he did doesn't."

"Why are you so good to me?" She asks.

His voice is vey low, baritone, "I wasn't aware I was."

"You always are. And I don't deserve it, I'm horrible to you, I'm such a horrible person."

"No you're not, you're the most wonderful person I know."

Her eyes fill with tears at his sincerity, "I'm so sorry I hurt you, that I pushed you away. I didn't realise I was so messed up until I was faced with the reality of us. Of what we could be. It's more than I've ever had… I never felt like this, even when I was a newlywed. And I'm scared by that. And I've made such mistakes."

As hard as it is for him to consider or deal with, he needs to get through the next question before they can move on and have any hope of her fixing those mistakes.

He suspects he knows the answer before he even asks but does so as calmly as he can, "Was Joe here tonight?"

She bites her lip, nods, "I'm so very ashamed. If I tell you you'll hate me and I can't bear that. I couldn't bear for you to hate me."

He shakes his head, smiles sadly, "I think we've pretty much established my feelings for you Elsie. I don't think they're just going to disappear, believe me, I've been having that conversation with my heart since we landed in England over three weeks ago."

She pulls the blanket tighter around them, shivering against his chest. "I don't know why I let him in – regrets maybe, guilt, nostalgia." She shrugs. "He kissed me, Christmas time, in the kitchen. Came over with the excuse of dropping off my card and present. Since then I've been in a kind of funk. I don't know what I want. He has this way… …Then he was here last night and we were drinking, and then the next moment he's on top of me…"

Charles tightens his hand against the cushion of the sofa. _Does she mean attacking her?_

"And I was so confused, those old feelings I had for him, that I still have in some ways. He was my protector, when we first married, that's what he called it. And when I started working and… and I was good at it. I made my own money. I started having my independence and we drifted apart. And I'm not blaming him because I played as much of a role, he started sleeping with other women but that's because I was no longer there, I didn't feel the same."

Charles isn't convinced about that. Surely if you had Elsie Hughes as your wife you'd do whatever it takes to keep it that way. He sounds a selfish bastard, jealous of his wife's success and blossoming personality - a personality not allowed to grow naturally in childhood. But he bites his tongue and lets her go on.

"I was so close to it," she feels revulsion in her chest as she remembers his fingers between her legs. "And then I thought of you." She's crying again, silent tears spilling down her cheeks. "And I hate myself for losing you."

He breathes deeply, closes his eyes a moment to take it in. He's tired and confused and hurt but when he searches inside he can't hate her. Can't stop loving her.

"You've not lost me."

His words offer a glimmer of hope and she feels her heart tighten.

"But if we're going to do this, then you have to be all in Elspeth. No more games. No more of him."

She shakes her head, "I won't see him again."

"I wouldn't dream of demanding that, he's Anna's father and you have this shared past…"

"I won't see him again," she says more forcefully.

They lay in silence for a long time, until the sun is up and the room takes on an orange glow.

He wants to know more about her childhood because he thinks talking it through will help. There's so much he wants to say about what she's told him but he suspects it's not the time, she's opened up and that's enough for now and when she's ready they'll talk some more.

"Perhaps we should make that contract." She says sometime later.

"Oh goodness," he frowns and shakes his head recalling their awful fight in Dubai.

"I mean it." She says calmly, "make things clear from the start, for both of us."

"There are things I want, things I need, from you." He says gently.

"Alright."

"I want you to include me in your life, not just be on the side, someone you see separate to your life. I want to meet your friends, be the person you ask to accompany you to things. And I want that in return – if I have to attend boring Bill's boring barbecues in the summer then you have to suffer too."

She allows herself a small smile, "Okay."

"And I play cricket, on Sunday's, I told you that and asked you to come watch and you never have and I'd like you to."

She nods, ashamed of her behaviour, he's tried so hard and she's done nothing but push him aside. "I will. Next time you play, I'll be there." They'll be no more boxing him into a neat compartment of part time lover and companion, no more shutting him out.

"And you need to talk to me, I need to know what's going on with you. Christ Els, I've never been in love before," he admits. "But bloody hell it's a difficult business."

She allows herself to laugh, "Thank God for you." She's twisting over to cup his face. "And I really mean that, I thank God for you."

"That's another thing," he says as she moves to kiss him. "I think we should refrain from…you know…because when I'm making love to you I forget my own name let alone make rational decisions. It clouds things, I want to be sure, before we go too quickly."

She can understand that. He gave her his all, and she hurt him – he wants to protect himself.

"So, we go back to dating?"

"Yes…" He's nervous, his eyes large and dark and she thinks his lip might be shaking as he speaks.

"Can I touch you though? Because I'd really like to hold you right now."

He smiles sheepishly, moving to a better position so they can embrace and it feels both wonderful and terrifying.

* * *

_So, there is it - big deep breath on my part now whilst I wait to see what you thought of it..._


	11. Chapter 11

_SOOOO much easier to write than chapter 10 and I actually got to have some fun with them! Hope you like it and are starting to warm to/forgive/understand Elsie a little more._

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**Just a quiet weekend**

Charles sat in the lounge in silence as she showered and changed. He couldn't face watching the news and having to deal with other people's problems – he had enough on his mind without having to watch coverage of the world going to shit.

He felt both physically and mentally exhausted by the night that had passed but somehow freer.

Truth be told he'd been living in a daze since they'd returned – he'd come home feeling like he didn't know Elsie at all, that all those tender months of taking things slowly and giving each other space to work it out were false. That the fun-loving, intelligent, sexy woman he'd spent so many wonderful hours with wasn't actually who she was.

Now he knew what Anna meant when she'd said to him in the restaurant that Elsie was more, or could be; she is the person he's fallen in love with, she's just afraid to be her. She seems to have spent so long trying to be what other people wanted of her that she doesn't know how to just be herself. He hoped she realised he loved her for just being her, he loved her when she was being silly and laughing raucously, or singing at the top of her voice and embarrassing him in the car. He loved her when she was blurry eyed first thing in the morning and leaning in to him for a cuddle.

He always felt there was something deeper to her, something she kept shut off and when he got close to unlocking it she retreated. Now at least he felt she'd given him the key.

At least he knew. Though he realised that only meant they were at the start of a very long road. Sighing he ran his hand through his hair, nobody screwed you up quite like your parents. And he'd always thought his Dad was a total bastard.

Before she came out he tipped the remains of the wine and almost an entire bottle of whisky down the drain. No alcohol for a while. She needed to be clear-headed, they both did, then maybe she'd be in a position to finally explore those long repressed feelings. Maybe start seeing a counsellor – he didn't know and it wasn't his decision to make, but it could be an idea.

He was filling the sink when she came in and stood with his hands in the soapy water.

"The shower's free. Are you doing my dishes?"

There was an almost a week's worth piled up on the side.

"Don't do that Charles, I will, go have a shower. Let me make you breakfast."

"I don't mind."

"I do, you've done enough." She took hold of a towel and handed it to him and he dried his hands. She looked better, not well, but better. "There's the dishwasher anyhow."

"You know how I feel about those things. A waste of energy…"

"I know, for people too lazy to rinse their own mess. That's why I've stopped using mine, hence the build up."

He smiled; there was something of the old Elsie there, their old easiness.

"I'll make you poached eggs." She said.

"That's my favourite."

"I know."

He liked that she could cook, and he knew that probably made him sound dated, he thought as he stood under her shower, but he liked it anyhow. It made him feel wanted, to know she was cooking for him, such a simple basic thing.

She'd made fresh tea too, the real kind with leaves, and poured juice and set it up on the small dining table in the next room – because he really hated those uncomfortable kitchen stools.

His hair was damp and he smelled of soap, as she leant over him to put the eggs on his plate she breathed him in – as fresh as a new day. He helped himself to toast, added salt and pepper and slit his knife through the silky egg, rewarded with the rich liquid gold interior leaking out. He smiled; some simple things were worth everything and she'd cooked these to perfection.

She was watching him as he did it, her hands folded beneath her chin; the lopsided smile that came so naturally to his tanned face, the curl of hair untamed from his shower.

"Aren't you eating yours?" He asked chewing, glancing at hers untouched.

"I am," she unfolded her hands and reached for the pepper. "But I can make you more, should you want it."

He cut another forkful, "It is very good, you know this is one of my favourite things and I'm rubbish at making it."

"Really?"

"Terrible, saddest thing you've ever heard right?" He said, realising that what she'd told him last night was the saddest thing he'd ever heard, but she was smiling at him as she filled their teacups (proper tea cups, he noted with pride). "They end up a watery mess."

"It's probably the temperature of the water, but I can show you, or I can make them for you. And besides, you cook the best boeuf bourguignon I've ever had."

"My Grandmother's recipe – scary woman, but great at cooking meat."

He pushed his plate aside, "That was really good Elsie."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He drank his tea, reached for his juice. This easy conversation was nice, skimming along the surface of things, not prodding beneath for the moment, because they needed time – she did. He didn't want her to get to the point she was at last night ever again, and whether that meant they'd be together or not in five months or five years time he didn't know, but he would do whatever he could to support and love her. He'd thought at the beginning she needed to heal from her divorce, he'd never have guessed her scars went back so much further.

"Would you like some more?" She asked, gently, her voice still raw from all the crying.

"I'm good I think actually, I will help myself to some more tea though. Did you get this from Taylors?"

"From Betty's, Anna and I went on Mother's Day and stuffed ourselves on cake."

"I remember you telling me."

They were silent, listening to the sound of the breeze coming in from the open windows, the distant Saturday traffic. Spring was in full bloom now and he was glad of sunshine and green lands again after the long winter.

"Shall we do something today?" He asked tentatively, "Or would you rather be alone?"

She looked up quickly, "No, I don't want to be alone."

"A walk maybe, we could drive out somewhere, maybe do the Ripon Rowel walk, that's gentle by the river."

The thought of being outside seemed like heaven, "I'd like that, but did you have plans? I don't want to take you away from anything."

"Only scrutinising the builders every move – I've rung and said I'd be there later and to just get on."

"That's very trusting of you."

"Some things are more important. I'll need to call back though, change, get suitable shoes."

"Of course," she started getting up and stacking their plates. "I'll do these then we can go. I don't mind driving."

"I've got my car here." He got up and took the teapot and cups through.

"Oh yes, I forgot." She put the plates down on the central island. Pausing momentarily, her hands shaking as she was reminded of her actions, "I'm so very sorry for how I was last night."

"You don't have to apologise about that." He covered his hand with hers, "Don't ever apologise for that." He squeezed her fingers. "Things will be okay."

She tilted her head to one side as she looked up at him, his certainty gave her strength.

"I've dreamed of having somebody stand by me the way you do, I doubted this could exist."

He swallowed, his mouth dry, licked his lips. He had so many doubts, so many questions and his own uncertainties. He looked down at where her hand had turned over to hold his in return. "You do want this Elsie, you do want me?" It was a question he was scared to ask but desperately needed to.

"Yes." She said, her voice full and sure. "Yes, I want you. Don't doubt that. Never again doubt that. I'm not saying it will be simple and easy and I won't be… that I won't find myself shrinking back at times but I promise you that isn't because of you."

He nodded, his eyes clouding up; he looked away from her face and down to their hands again.

"I care for you so very much Charles."

He felt her other hand rest on his arm, and her body move closer, "This is okay right," she said softly as she drew him into an embrace.

"This is okay," he said by her ear, breathing in the scent of her skin, her hair, her body warm and whole in his arms.

* * *

Charles held out his hand as she jumped over the muddy entrance to the walk, and when she was on the path beside him she didn't let go.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, content just to enjoy the view.

"So, tell me what you've planned then, for the shop." She finally asked.

"Pretty much all you suggested, total refurbishment. I figured if I was doing it I may as well do it all. So, new plumbing is going in – remember how you could never get the temperature on the shower right?"

She rolled her eyes at that particular memory, freezing cold, twisted the faucet barely a mm and then burning her skin off. Charles had come racing in she'd screamed so loud.

"I have a vague recollection of that," she said.

"I'm sure, well new shower, some new plaster work in my bedroom, I'll be sleeping in the spare room whilst it's being done – with the books."

She laughed, that sounded rather sweet. "You're more than welcome to stay with me you know, you can have the spare room, if it gets too dusty there."

"Thanks for the offer."

They both knew he wouldn't take her up on it, not at this point, but he was glad she'd asked.

"So, I've ordered new shelving for downstairs and they're going to put the coffee bit in, as you suggested. I've been looking at coffee machines, I never knew there was such variety, in fact I never knew they existed - I'm content with a bit of Nescafé. Then I thought about all those fancy coffees you have when we go out and I thought I better offer something like that if I'm doing it. So there's a rep coming to see me on Wednesday from some company, take me through what's on offer and how much it costs."

He was babbling but she was enjoying it, it was good to have a distraction from her own mind and he was so excited and animated about it all. It was lovely to see.

"I need to get a new bed too." He said as he climbed over a stile.

"Oh, thank god!" She exclaimed.

"I have great affection for that bed." He said turning to put his hands on her waist and lift her down.

"Nobody else does, believe me. It's the lumpiest thing I've ever slept on."

"Well, I may have had it a while."

She chuckled, "You'll sleep so much better."

"Would it be odd if I asked you to look at them with me, I don't know about this stuff and I feel a bit of a plonker wandering around cluelessly staring at beds."

"Are you suggesting _I_ know a lot about beds?" She teased, and that was the Elsie he knew, the one who liked to have fun and mock and play.

"I think you probably do know plenty about beds… And now we better cease this discussion before it gets messy."

"Oh dear, messy beds." She chuckled as she walked ahead of him down the lane.

"Oh Elsie… Heavens." He shook his head at her but secretly he welcomed her humour coming back, even if she could be a little risqué with it.

* * *

**Eight months earlier**

Charles had changed his shirt three times already and still wasn't convinced it was suitable. But time was getting on, the taxi was picking him up in ten minutes and he needed cuff links yet and a tie.

He was never usually so flustered about getting dressed! But then he never usually liked people as much as he did Elsie. He smiled at the thought of her name, at using her name; he kept turning it over in his mind in schoolboy fascination.

So far he'd come up with seven possible topics of conversation for if things became muted. He didn't want her bored and he loathed it when there were only two of you and there was nothing of interest to talk about. He'd been on enough bad dates over the years to know that silence over a small table for two was the most awkward thing to be part of. He doubted that would be the case following their previous conversations but it was best to be prepared.

Outside a taxi beeped and he glanced out the window, rushed to the kitchen to collect her flowers and his wallet and was gone.

It took exactly thirteen minutes from his door to her street; he timed it alongside watching the meter.

"So, you'll wait here." Charles said. "Keep the meter running, I don't mind."

"Right you are." The driver said and Charles hopped out, straightened his tie, fastened his jacket and rung her bell. Number nine. There was a shared door for the downstairs flat and two separate bells.

The panel beside him buzzed and he heard her say, "Come up," and the door in front of him bleeped and started opening.

He stared at it thinking about how much he liked door keys and face-to-face contact.

The door to her flat was slightly ajar so he gently tapped on it, "Hello?"

"Come in," she said form somewhere inside.

He stepped in, polished wood floors, white walls, tasteful furniture. A large mirror on one side of the hall, a painting of the Yorkshire countryside on the other, then the sound of her heels on the wood and she was coming out of a room towards him.

"Hi," she said brightly, fastening her earring. "Sorry, I'm not late, not usually, I just couldn't find the back to this earring." She stopped short of him. "You look very smart. Are they for me?"

He glanced at the flowers – "Yes," he mumbled. This was going wonderfully so far; she'd complemented him on his outfit, he hadn't hers, and then she'd had to claim her flowers because he hadn't offered them.

"I like your flat," he said weakly.

"So do I." She held his gaze, an enigmatic smile on her face. "So, do I get to put those in water before we leave?"

"Yes, sorry." He thrust them into her hands, an enormous amount of yellow roses; they must have cost a fortune.

"These are beautiful, thank you so very much, they'll brighten up my kitchen. Come on through."

He tried not to look around too much, keep it calm and polite. Her kitchen was small but tasteful, lots of counter space, sleek smooth lines in white. He couldn't see a fridge or washing machine and wondered where all the appliances were – surely she had to wash and cook.

"Is that our taxi?" She asked, glancing out of the window to the man smoking in the street.

"Yes."

"Then I'll trim these later," she bent to retrieve a vase from a cupboard and he felt his collar get tight as her dress moved revealing more of her shapely legs and stretching over her backside. "And just put them in water for now."

She was wearing a simple black dress; it came in tight at her waist and had a kind of flared skirt. Her arms were bare and he was worried she'd be cold as the evening wore on but before he mentioned that she put on a cardigan that was lying over the back of a chair.

The vase of roses was placed on the middle counter between them and she smiled at both them and him, he was so very nervous and she so wanted to put him at ease. "They look beautiful, thank you."

"You look very beautiful." He said feeling a little gormless. She'd done something funky with her hair and it looked quite different to when she was in the shop, curled in a way, he wasn't sure how she'd done it, the ways women did things had always baffled him.

"Well, thank you again." She reached for her handbag, blushing. "Shall we go?"

He took her to Noci's because he felt comfortable there. The food was always good and despite it not being as glamorous as some of the other places around Harrogate he felt it important that they were comfortable and ate well. Then even if the date was a disaster at least she'd have one nice thing to say – though he wasn't even sure if she would have told anybody she had a date and it seemed presumptuous to ask.

They ordered, chose wine and then were left to talk. She had her elbows propped on the table and her chin resting on her hands as she watched him fiddle with his cufflinks.

"I take it you come here often?" She asked, trying to find an easy topic to relax him.

"Yes, but they're probably surprised I'm with someone, usually I have that tiny table over at the back and read as I eat."

"Do you have a favourite author? I can't believe I've never asked you that, in all these years."

"I don't, I like so many, some books you can just read over and over again."

"I know."

He watched the candlelight move over her face, the way she licked her lips after taking a sip of wine.

"Do you have a favourite period of History?"

She smiled, "Sixteenth century was my focus at University but nowadays I just teach whatever's on the curriculum, whether I agree with what's on there or not – government choice, not teacher choice."

He chuckled, he remembered she got very het up during the last election and was so angry when Cameron came to power she threatened to leave the country. It was a fairly awkward conversation considering the fact he had a 'Vote Conservative' poster up in his shop window.

"I read a lot about teachers being unhappy, lots of strike business."

"Are you going to ask me my take on it all?"

"Not at all, and I'm not anti-teacher or anti-strike, believe me. Workers need a voice."

She nodded, glad he'd said that, it would be a pretty shambolic start to the night if he went all 'Daily Mail' on her and started claiming strikes were a waste of time and money.

"My opinion is that you're in a union for a reason and if the majority votes for a strike then I'll strike, sometimes I think there are more important things to strike over but…" she shrugs, "that's how it goes."

There's a basket of breadsticks in the middle of the table and she snaps one in half and starts nibbling it; he's glad, he's wanted one since they poured the wine but didn't want to appear greedy. He quickly follows her lead and happily sits eating as he listens to her.

"I can only speak from my experience of the profession, from what I see, and I can tell you that the teachers I know work so hard. People go on about holidays but teachers work every night, well, I know I do, and of course technically we aren't paid for the holiday weeks."

"I didn't know that."

"I know we really care about our students doing well and sometimes it would be nice to just teach rather than having change after change after criticism being thrown at us."

She grinned bashfully, glancing to the table, "But I'm starting to rant now so let's change the subject."

"I don't mind, Elsie, it's interesting to me."

"Well, I worry I'll put you off if I start getting on my soapbox so…"

"So." He's not sure anything could put him off her. "Can I ask about your name?"

"My name?"

"Is it just Elsie?"

She shook her head, "Elspeth, kind of a tradition in the family, I think we've had one in the last four generations. A bit old fashioned."

"So's Charles. People expect somebody rich and royal with a name like that. And in fact did you know one of its origins is 'Karl', meaning rub, old and grain – so literally an old man worn grey with age. You're naming a child as an old man before he's even started!"

She laughed and he loved the sound of it, the way her wonderful cheekbones were highlighted even more as she did. She had the most beautiful, friendly face.

"But Elspeth is lovely."

She screwed her face up, "I'm not so sure."

"It is, what does it mean, do you know?"

"It's very grand, chosen by God."

His eyebrows rose, "That is very grand, better than being an old man."

Their starters arrived and he waited patiently for them to be served before he went on, "And are you?"

She swallowed the tomato she'd just put in her mouth, "Am I chosen by God? Do you mean to perform some kind of miracle?"

He chuckled, "No, I mean are you religious?"

"That's a very deep question for when I'm eating a salad." She smiled. "Are _you_ religious?"

"I was raised that way, it was never presented as an option to me." He shrugged, "Of course I have doubts and I don't agree with everything but as I've gotten older I do find it a comfort, and I thought well, what the hell, whether there's a God or not if it brings comfort then that's something."

"That's a nice way of approaching it. I'm not saying I don't believe neither, my father was English, I was raised Christian, but we never went to church or read the Bible at breakfast or anything. Do you go to Church?"

"Most Sundays," he said gently.

"Oh…" She put in another forkful of salad.

"Does that make me sound boring?"

She chewed, thinking on it, then said, "Dedicated." And he laughed.

* * *

"Thank you for dinner Charles," She said as they walked, it was a lovely summer evening, warm and still. She liked this time of year, people stayed out late and had fun instead of being stuck home watching television. "But you should have let me split the bill."

"Absolutely not, I asked you for dinner, I pay."

She didn't want to tell him how old-fashioned that view was, because it was sort of sweet and he certainly meant it to be sweet, not controlling. "Then let me buy you a drink, hmm, its not too late and there are some lovely bars here, outdoor seating."

He nodded, placing his hand on her elbow as a couple pushed past them on the pavement. He didn't want the evening to end just yet; he wanted more of her conversation, more of her company.

"I'd like that Elsie."

"Good, shall we then?"

* * *

**Present Day**

They stood by the river listening to the chattering of Spring – birds flitting from the branches above them, warm sunlight playing upon the water, that cooling breeze that kept them both buttoned up in jackets despite the sunshine.

"We had a river near our house," she said as she stared at it, and he guessed she meant childhood house. "We used to swim in it in the summer, in the winter it usually froze solid but we didn't dare skate on it because mother told us of a boy who'd drowned there years before. I never did find out if that story were true or just scaremongering."

"What was your mother like?" He asked, his hands in his pockets.

She breathed deeply, pursing her lips as if thinking on it, "A hard worker, solid, dependable. Scottish and very patriotic." She smiled. "We all had to know our Burns and our tartan."

"Read some for me sometime."

"Next Burns night I'll make you a proper Scottish meal and read some," she says as they leant into each other and watched the play of light and insects upon the water.

"She accepted her place," she said sometime later. "I don't think it ever occurred to her to question that there could be more to life. That she could have more. But it was a different time then…"

"Especially for women." He added.

"Yes. Especially for women. Expectations were to get married and have children. Hence her having six of them. Maybe that's why I stuck in a marriage that wasn't healthy for so long."

Charles doesn't want to think about Joe, he thinks if he ever saw the man he'd probably break a lifetime rule and thump him. "Do you see your siblings?"

She shook her head, "Not really, I get emails and texts sometimes from my sister Rebecca, she lives in London now, she married a solicitor, had two sons – did well for herself. We were the only two to leave. My four brothers inherited the farm, two of them still run it – Jimmy and Alan, my eldest brother – Fred – he died many years ago from cancer. He was a good fifteen years older than me and we were never really close."

"You're the youngest?"

"Becky is, by two years. I was closest to her I suppose when we were growing up. But we drifted apart when I moved to Yorkshire. You get your own life, your own children and a husband and a job and somehow time goes by and you lose contact."

"Sadly yes." He thinks of his own family, he has cousins he's never even met.

"What about your brother – John?"

He looked out across the water as a circle appeared on the surface, gradually moving outwards, probably a fish. "As with you we weren't close, I was eighteen when he was born and he's always lived in Ireland so we hardly spent time together. I used to go over in holidays but we weren't exactly friends. He writes though and I reply."

"That's nice."

He looks up at her as she breeze blows her hair into her face and she brushes it back, tucking it behind her ear.

"Shall we continue down the river or are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine, let's go."

They bump elbows as they climb up the bank and she hooks her arm through his.

"I was thinking you might come to mine for dinner tonight." He says, "I could cook, or we could cook together."

"I'd like that very much."

"You could stay, if you liked," he doesn't really want to think about her going home alone at the moment. "You can have my room, I'll take the single in the spare room."

"I wouldn't move you like that."

"You're not, I offered."

She leans in closer to him as they pass a couple with a Labrador bounding along and then jumping into the water.

"I always thought I should get a dog," she smiles after it. "Especially when Anna went to University, for company."

"How's she doing?"

"Won't talk to me, 'stressed to the eyeballs' is what she said when I called her so I've left her alone to focus on her exams. I'll be relieved when it's over and she's packing up and coming home."

They stop as they reach the peak of a hill and look out at the view of the Yorkshire countryside – spectacular.

"When I was doing my exams I used to go walking." He said. "Places like this, just to get out of my room, to get out of my own head. It's a sobering thought to see this and think it's been here long before I existed and will remain here long after I'm gone. Your problems seem more manageable then, when you consider how vast this planet is and all of life upon it."

She squeezes his fingers in hers; stiff and cold now after being out for so long, "You should write a book, not just sell them."

He chuckled, glancing down at her, "I'm not sure I have the passion for it."

She turned her face up to his and smiled and he tentatively leant down to touch his lips against hers. It was a gentle peck, his kind eyes holding her secure. Then he kissed her again, deeply and she turned in his arms until they were embracing, reaffirming their bond.

* * *

"You have cream on your chin," she laughed leaning across the small table to wipe his face with her napkin.

It was three in the afternoon and they were having cream teas at a café along the route. It was warm yet quiet following the lunchtime rush and they sat in a corner out of view.

"Thank you," he said, using his own napkin to wipe the rest away. "I thought we might call at Fodder on the way back, pick something up for tonight."

"It's a good job we've walked today, we've done nothing but eat good food."

"As opposed to eating _bad_ food all day…" he smirked.

"Yes, as opposed to that." She said batting his arm. "So, this cricket then, is it tomorrow?"

"Not until next Sunday." He paused, spreading more clotted cream on the second half of his scone, he always saved the top of it til last, he loved the crunchy texture of its surface. "Will you come?"

"I will. Just give me times and I'm assuming I'm going to the cricket club," he nodded, "so I can find that okay but I know virtually zero about the game – at least that gives me a week to learn the rules."

He laughed, "You don't have to, just watch. There's a games night too soon," he said eagerly then mentally berating himself for it – one step at a time Charles.

"Oh… just a second." She started searching in her bag.

"What?"

"Just getting my phone, if you give me the date I'll put it in here so I don't miss it."

He felt his chest flutter as she started tapping away.

"Games night, when?"

"Two weeks today." He said softly.

She flicked through her calendar and added it. "Is that at the cricket club again, some sort of…" she saw his expression, "what?"

"Its not a cricket thing. Well, I guess it sort of is because my friends from the club host it, Richard and Isobel, but it's at their home, we have one every four months. It's like… well, games, you take money and bet and there's a variety of things, you know, cards and bowls and such."

"At somebody's home?"

"They have a pretty big home, Isobel's father was rich. She married a lowly Doctor." He said wryly.

"Poor her." She grinned and swallowed. "Alright, games night, I suppose at least I'll have met some of these people next week."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, it isn't a chore." She tapped his hand with hers. "Anything else?"

He smiled, "I'll think about it."

* * *

He'd made pasta for her on their seventh date – he remembered it was the seventh because at the beginning he was counting how many they'd have before she realised how dull he was. Only she didn't, she didn't seem to find him dull at all, unlike previous women he'd dated.

She'd been amazed he had a pasta maker and made his own, being a woman who lived out of packets, so they bought the ingredients from Fodder and he taught her how to make pasta on Saturday night. They made ricotta and spinach stuffed pasta shells and put them in the oven to bake, then roasted vegetables and made a rich tomato sauce.

"I feel like I'm dating Gordan Ramsey." She said, as they stood side-by-side in the kitchen. "You even have your own stripy apron. Only you swear less and have better skin."

He grinned, "You don't want to get sauce on your clothes, tomato can be a bugger to get out."

She watched as he stirred the sauce. How different this day had turned out to what she'd expected of the weekend. To how she was last night.

She shuddered remembering and closed her eyes momentarily.

"Shall we have some music on?" he asked, moving to the stereo.

"If you like," she expected something classical, something light, so was surprised when the familiar strains on Ben E. King filled the room.

"One of my favourites," he said as she glanced over at him, he'd grinned at her expression. "Stir the sauce Els, before it burns."

After dinner they played cards in the lounge, sitting on the floor on cushions either side of the coffee-table.

"I've never been very good at Poker," she said. "I get frustrated."

"Just remember to keep your nerve, keep thinking, you're smart – think about what the other players are doing, the choices they're making."

"Do you win heavily at this games night?" She asked teasingly.

"No, not really."

He laid a card down and watched as she screwed her face up, pursing her lips and considering – she made the most delightful faces. Marvin Gaye came over the stereo and she sat up, her face brighter, "I love this song!" She exclaimed, moving her shoulders about to the beat, nodding her head as she stared at her cards and then joined in, "Baby, I heard it through the grapevine."

He laughed and she looked up sharply, "Don't laugh."

"I'm not," he groaned as his legs protested at the position and he sat back onto his bottom, shoving his legs under the coffee table to one side of her.

She pinched his toe, "You were."

"You've got a good voice."

"I love to sing." She finally laid a card down. "There."

"Well, Isobel was thinking of starting a Karaoke thing, you could join in that."

"Absolutely not. Why did you never tell me you had this collection – we could have been listening to these classics for months."

He shrugged, "I forget what I've got. I just leave the discs in that thing and let it choose. When I get bored I swap them."

She rested her elbows on the table as she watched him and the track changed, "Oh my goodness, is this Elkie Brooks? I haven't heard this song for so long, I mean years and years."

"Great tune, I love it when she says…"

"Listen to me!" Elsie said dramatically grasping her chest and they laughed and sang it together as they played. _"Lilac wine, is sweet and heady, like my love… I feel unsteady, where's my love?"_

By the time they'd reached the end of the CD the game wasn't over but both were yawning.

"You should put these on the iPad I got you, then you can take them with you, listen to them in the car or on holiday."

"I will." He got up and poured them both a sherry. "Night cap." He'd said handing her one.

"Thank you. I think I'm winning this…" she said focussing on her cards.

The strumming of a guitar came on, _'And so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me, most of the time…'_

She caught her breath, she recognised this voice, the songs he'd sent her the other week – the painful emails. She wondered if he'd kept that email, she wondered if he'd tried to respond to it.

_'I can't take my eyes off you.'_

She bit her lip, staring at him as he shuffled through his cards, the small glass of sherry dangling between his fingers. Oblivious to her gaze.

_'I can't take my eyes off you.'_

The long string of the violin seemed to be filling her chest as she watched him.

"You're the kindest man I've ever met." She said suddenly and he looked up quickly, startled.

"Thank you," he murmured, he wasn't used to complements, he rarely gave them, let alone received them.

She smiled warmly at him, "And you have the kindest, sexiest eyes." She added.

He grinned, "Oh now you're just mocking me."

"I am not." She stretched her arms above her head and yawned again, "I have to go to bed." She pushed her hands on the table and got up. "My eyes won't stay open."

He put his cards down, "This isn't over though Mrs Hughes," he said getting up too.

"Alright, no cheating and swapping my cards though just because you know I'm winning this one."

"Promise," he crossed his heart as the song came to an end and a jollier rhythm replaced it. "You know where everything is…"

"I still feel bad taking your room. I can sleep in the spare."

"It's full of boxes, you're up for the loo at least three times a night, you'll trip over."

"Hey!" She gently slapped his chest, leaning in to kiss him very tenderly. "Goodnight Charles. Thank you for a lovely day."

"Thank _you_, Elspeth."

Elton John's familiar voice seemed to follow her as she padded barefoot down his hallway and to his bedroom,_ 'Are you ready, are you ready for love?'_

* * *

_I need to say thank you for all the reviews, comments and re-blogs I'm getting for this story – the encouragement is overwhelming – in particular I'd like to thank (and send love to) deeedeee and brenna-louise for never failing to fill my inbox with lovely, long messages!_

**Songs mentioned were:**

_Stand by me – Ben. E King  
__I Heard it Through the Grapevine – Marvin Gaye  
__Lilac Wine – Elkie Brooks  
__The Blower's Daughter – Damien Rice  
__Are You Ready For Love? – Elton John_


	12. Chapter 12

_In which Charles and Elsie share each other's lives and we get to spend a lot of time with the wonderful Beryl!_

_Quite a lot of dialogue in this one, hope you don't mind! Also apologies for any typos - back at work now so (unfortunately) having to fit writing in around it - it sucks! x R_

**Chapter 12**

**Meetings**

Beryl Mason was something of a matriarch. She'd had three children of her own (three strapping Yorkshire lads), adopted one (the still meek and tiny Daisy) and offered a foster home to countless others over the years. And that was how she'd met Elsie Hughes.

Elsie was the History teacher at the local comp and the only member of staff that Peter, one of Beryl's foster boys, hadn't played up for. He liked her because she was honest and she was fair, if you misbehaved you were punished, if you were good you were rewarded. She taught you well, she made you laugh and you knew beyond a doubt that she was on your side.

Beryl and Elsie had been friends ever since. Peter was now twenty and a trainee for the Post Office in the Pensions Department. Beryl couldn't have been prouder.

Wednesday night came and Elsie was stuck in traffic on her way to meet her friend for dinner, or 'tea', as Beryl liked to call it. For the third time since she'd left the school car park she pressed speed dial on her phone, tapping her steering wheel as it continuously rang. She wanted to speak to Charles before she got into the pub otherwise she might miss him later; she wasn't sure what time she'd get back – Beryl was a bit of a talker.

It had quickly become something of a 'thing' that they spoke every day, even if only for five minutes. She was gradually starting to come out of the dark cloud of last Friday – her 'meltdown moment', as Anna had called it when she'd rung her Sunday afternoon and told her bits about what had happened. And as much as she knew there were still things she had to deal with it felt good to leave them be for the moment and just enjoy being alive.

By the time she reached the pub Charles still hadn't answered so she tucked her phone in her bag and went inside. Beryl had a bottle of wine waiting and a million questions.

"You look tired, is he keeping you up all night?" Was her opening one.

"Hi to you too," Elsie said, shrugging off her coat and kissing her friend's cheek. "And in answer to your rather nosey question – I'm tired because I've spent the last three nights marking, it's that time of year." She took a sip of wine, "Coursework deadlines and exams looming. As you very well know with Kit going through it all."

"Don't get me started on her, she's had an argument with every member of that mental household this past weekend, in fact I think I might move into your flash pad if you don't mind, leave my grubby abode behind. Lover boy won't mind will he, if I'm in the armchair watching Corrie whilst you're making out on the couch."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Stop calling him that."

"Sorry," Beryl cleared her throat and said very grandly, "Charles."

Ignoring her Elsie scanned the menu, "I'm having salad, my stomach's getting big and I need it to be flat on Sunday."

"You are kidding me, there's nothing on ya. And why does it need to be flat?"

She folded the menu and slipped her glasses off, "Because I'm joining him at the cricket and I want to look nice."

Beryl laughed, "Get away with you! You hate sports. You only watched the Olympics for that cute swimmer guy. What's his name again… erm…"

"Mark Foster," Elsie said with a grin, "So gorgeous. What a voice."

"Not a bad body neither."

They giggled together like school children.

"So, which team you watching?"

"His team, Charles' team."

"He plays? Is he any good? Is he hunky?"

"I'm not going to answer that."

"Why haven't I even seen a picture of him? Come on, sort it out."

"Ohh, look…" she searched in her bag for her phone. "Don't start with me, I'm 'sorting' it, slowly but surely."

"How's it going anyhow?"

She'd finally told Beryl everything over coffee early Sunday evening, ringing her and asking her if she was free to come over for a chat. She even went in to the gory details over what happened with Joe, she needed to talk to somebody else and not just burden Charles with it all.

They'd cried together when she'd recounted what had happened with her parents and then eaten the chocolate cake Beryl had brought over and watched 'Vera'. The more she spoke about it though, the more it seemed to be lifting from her sub-conscious, and she'd had no dreams since.

She scanned through her phone, finding one of him from their holiday, sun-kissed in a white shirt standing on the beach.

"There, is that alright now?"

Beryl nodded her head, "Not bad, not bad. Very tall, good arms. Strong legs I bet too."

"Oh, stop it." Elsie grabbed her phone back.

"Hey, I want to see more pictures, the holiday shots, you've been holding out on me."

"I've been busy… and, well, you know."

"Miserable, dramatic, having a meltdown?"

"I love that you're so supportive. Are we going to order, I'm hungry?"

"For a salad?!"

"Well, what are you having?"

"Fish and chips."

"I can't have that."

"We always have that here because it's the best here."

"I know, but…"

"Surely, if he's put up with your flabby stomach for the past nine months it's not going to bother him now."

"Hey, it's not flabby!" Elsie said, slapping Beryl's arm and subconsciously shifting her top to cover any bumps. "Alright, I'll have the same. I'm not worried about Charles anyhow, I just want to look nice at this thing for him."

"Aren't you little Miss Homemaker?"

"It's a big step, I've held out on him for so long and made it so difficult for him."

"Try 'hard-to-get times a billion'."

"I know, don't make me feel even more guilty."

"Still apologising?"

"Not really, he's been wonderful – tentative but wonderful. And I feel like I should…"

"Drop the guilt Elsie, you carried that shit for too long with Joe." Of course Beryl blamed Joe, she always blamed him. It wasn't quite so clear-cut to Elsie.

"I'm not, it isn't like that. I'm trying to be more give and take."

"But you don't do anything as boring as play cricket!"

"Ha! Very funny."

"I take that back, you do visit a lot of museums."

"Well lucky for me he likes to do that too."

"Quite the pair. So you're nervous about meeting these folks, are they snobs?"

"I don't know I've never met them before. But they're his friends and it's important to him so…"

"So, you need a flat stomach!"

"I have children at school all day to mock me you know."

"Ha! Well, just wear some of those big pants, you know, Bridget Jones style, suck it in. Unless you're afraid it'll turn him off when he's trying to have his wicked with you later in the day. Nothing worse than a limp dick at the crucial moment."

"Ah, Beryl! Lower your voice, people might hear. We're abstaining anyhow."

"What? For how long?!"

"I don't know, until we feel we don't have to anymore. I agree with it, we need to focus on the emotional side of our relationship not the physical."

"You do get drawn into some deep shit," Beryl said taking a gulp of wine. "What happened to the good old days where you liked someone, you jumped their bones, you got married, had babies and spent your life in perpetual misery?"

"Well, let's drink to that shall we." Elsie laughed and they clinked glasses.

She swallowed quickly as her phone rang and Beryl watched the smile that crossed her face, the softening of her eyes as she answered. "Hello."

_"Hi, sorry I missed you. I was in the bath reading."_

"It's only early."

_"There was more dust on me than in the Sahara."_

"Oh dear, how's it gone today?"

_"You know, two steps forward, three back. Some issues with the plumbing, going to cost more, as expected."_

"I'm sorry."

_"Nothing to be done. Where are you? Come over."_

"I can't. I'm out with Beryl."

"Hi Charles!" Beryl called over the phone.

"He says hi back," Elsie said.

_"I'll leave you to it."_

"Okay, I'll text later if you're still up."

_"I'm sure I will be. Have a good night."_

"Thank you honey, bye." She put the phone down and noted Beryl's face. "What?"

"You called him 'honey'." She chuckled.

"I did not."

"You definitely did, you said 'honey'."

Elsie blushed, covering her mouth, "I did, didn't I."

Beryl was still laughing, "It's kinda cute."

"I don't know why I said that."

"Because he's sweet to you?"

"He is."

"Has he used the 'L' word again yet?"

"No, he hasn't. I think I've scared him off that for life."

"Somehow I doubt that, you just wait, if you're abstaining for months the first time he comes again he'll be screaming it."

"Beryl! For god's sake, you're worse than I am!" Elsie said glancing around to check nobody had heard.

"I speak the truth," she refilled their glasses. "Got quite an impressive nose hasn't he Charles… big feet too…?"

"Don't you dare even go there!"

Beryl chuckled wickedly.

"I'm going to order, my turn to pay I think." Elsie said getting up. It wasn't her turn to pay, it was Beryl's, she'd paid for the last two meals they'd had out but Beryl baked for a local farmshop and Bill drove a JCB for the council so they were hardly rolling in it, especially with six children in the house.

* * *

She got in just after ten after dropping Beryl home and texted, _"Just got in, sorry if I woke you. x E."_

He rang her immediately back. "I was still awake." He said yawning. "Watching the news."

"I'm sorry, I interrupted."

"I'd rather talk to you than listen to all this guff about the election. How was dinner?"

"Good, funny. She never fails to make me laugh. I need to have a shower."

"Can you talk to me in there?"

She laughed, "No, not in the cubicle. I could have a quick bath instead."

"Do that."

He listened as she moved about, turning on the bath taps and going to her bedroom to undress, he imagined her changing and was glad he was lying down.

"So, the plumbing?"

"I need different pipes or something. I may have to take you up on the offer of a bed if they have to rip it all out. I could be without water for a while."

"That's fine." She padded naked back to the bathroom and slipped into the water, propping the phone on a chair in the corner before she did so. "Oh, that feels good."

His throat suddenly felt very dry.

"She wants to know when she can meet you." Elsie said. "So I thought we'd have dinner one night, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, when?"

"I don't know, I wanted to ask you before I arranged anything."

"Any time's fine, apart from next Tuesday, my book group."

"Where are you going to host it with the shop closed?"

"My lounge I think. Those bloody women in my home."

She chuckled, "Take them to a coffee shop, or a pub."

"That's an idea."

"I feel our relationship is suddenly out in the public domain." She said, her voice changing.

"And does that bother you?"

"No, I suppose it just feels a little fast… which is ridiculous when you consider how long we've actually been 'together'." She sighed, rubbed her hand across her face and watched the water sway around her body. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue her train of thought. "Ignore me, I'm being ridiculous."

"But I'm glad you're telling me."

"I want you to myself every now and then." She pouted.

He laughed, "I'm sure I will be. You okay for Sunday?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll drive myself shall I?"

"If that's okay, Richard usually picks me up."

"It's fine, and I haven't forgotten you promised me Sunday lunch after."

"I know, I haven't forgotten neither."

"I've got to wash my hair and get to bed."

"Okay, I'll leave you to it."

"Speak to you tomorrow."

"Yes." He yawned again.

"Goodnight Charles." She said sitting up and reaching for the shampoo.

"Yes, goodnight…_honey._" He smirked before putting down the phone.

* * *

"What do you wear to watch a cricket match?" Elsie asked, standing in front of her wardrobe talking to Beryl on speakerphone.

"Oh bloody hell, some of those fake glasses so you can go to sleep and nobody know."

"That's not helpful."

"It's 8:15 on a Sunday morning, I'm barely coherent and you demand fashion advice. How would I know, I've never been to one."

"Do you think it's foolish to google it? I googled the rules last night, I have no idea what it means, I have a print off for my bag so I can keep checking."

"Christ, is he gonna quiz you?"

"No, of course not, but I want to try."

She rattled through things in her wardrobe, taking out dresses, holding them to her, then returning them to the hanger.

"What were you doing home and googling on a Saturday night? Why weren't you out?"

"Charles was meeting his friend, Richard, to go see some sci-fi film."

"He didn't ask you to go?"

"Why should he? We aren't joined at the hip. I was fine. He's fine."

"Yes, yes, everything's going fine – I get it."

"Just not rushing anything, that's all."

She decided on loose linen trousers, then she'd be safe if she had to sit on the grass – at least in May the grass was likely to be dry but she'd pack a blanket in the car just in case.

"What's all the racket?" She asked as thumping came down the other side of the phone.

"Just my hundreds of kids causing havoc."

When people met Beryl they thought her loud and uncouth, she had a mouth on her that was for sure and a certain turn of phrase, but she was the kindest, warmest soul Elsie knew, and she respected her. The fact she'd been fostering children for years, way before Elsie met her, and she still was, was amazing to Elsie. There was no way she could even consider having a child around again at her age and Beryl was three years older.

She could hear Bill yelling in the background and chuckled, "You sound busy, I should leave you to it."

"Let him handle it for a while, you found an outfit?"

"Think so."

"So when do I get to meet lover boy then? Did you ask him?"

"Yes, he said any time. I thought I might cook one night, a Friday would be best I suppose."

"What about lunch today?"

"He's playing cricket, remember."

"All day?"

"Well, I don't know how long these things last." She tipped over her jewellery box searching through for something suitable. "He did say we'd have lunch after. There's a pub nearby he likes."

"Text me the name and we'll come meet you."

Elsie bit her lip, "What about the kids?"

"I'll make them a pie and leave them to it. Text me a roundabout time too," there was a crash and scream in the background, "Shit, gotta go, see you later. Hope he wins."

"Okay, but I have to…" The phone goes dead, "…ask Charles." She finishes.

She pulls on a beige tunic and oversized beads. Then stands and stares at herself in the mirror – too much? Too little? She doesn't want to show him up. If it gets cold her nipples might stick out in the top – she swaps it, pulls a light blue floral one on instead. And it's sunny out so she finds her sunglasses and adds a small locket. She's just about to leave it as it is when she remembers the extravagant earrings she bought herself for her 50th – Vivenne Westwood, a dangly statement. She adds them for flamboyance, "Don't want his friends to think I'm dull." She says to herself.

The straighteners bleep at her and she sits in front of her vanity and starts to tame the kinks in her hair, pulling it round and beneath her chin. For some reason she feels like she's having a first date again, or meeting someone's parents.

A quick coat of pink lipstick and lots of mascara and she's ready.

She got stuck in traffic on the way to the cricket club, then the sat-nav froze and by the time she got there she was frantic it would have started and he'd be upset that she hadn't come.

But when she pulled into the car park she spotted him taking things from the boot of a car and she pulled alongside him, he raised his hand in a wave as she parked.

"Am I alright to park here?" She asked, opening her door.

"Of course." She turned off the engine, got out and pulled her handbag from the passenger seat, stumbling a little on the gravel as she went to greet him. "Shouldn't have worn heels, I wasn't sure…"

"Hi," he said touching her arm, putting her at ease, and leaning in to kiss her.

"Hi," she went to kiss his cheek, he went to kiss her mouth, and they ended up with a rather odd face kiss and nose bump. "Oh god," she said glancing to the floor, "I hope nobody saw that."

His hand slid up to squeeze her upper arm and he stepped closer whispering, "You know they've been watching you since the moment you pulled in so of course they all saw that."

She looked up at him and chuckled, "Great first impression."

"Mm, I found it endearing." And this time he kissed her properly, happy they were all watching. "You look wonderful," he said. "You ready?"

She nodded, glad of his gentle, supportive ways. "I like you in all this white." She said as they set off across the car park. "Very Richard Gere."

"How so?

"An Officer and a Gentleman, with Debra Winger, you've never seen it?"

"Afraid not."

"Goodness, we'll have to fix that. Only you're like a cricketer and a gentleman."

He laughed, "We will. Maybe later today. I want to warn you some of these people are downright snobs and some of the wives come here just to bitch and gossip."

"Got it."

They were almost at the steps, "You understand the rules yet?"

"Not in the slightest," she said through a false smile.

"Good morning," a lady said very brightly to her, grasping her hand as she reached the top step. "So wonderful to finally meet Charles' friend."

Elsie hung on to the word 'finally', "So very nice to be met, were you worried he was making me up?"

Charles chuckled; she'd be just fine.

* * *

He'd told her it wasn't a full match. Just playing to keep in shape, for practise, so it wouldn't be all day.

But after three hours of sitting on a hard bench nursing a lemonade Elsie's backside hurt and her back ached and she wasn't sure she'd ever make it through a full match. And hardly anyone had spoken to her. It was like being the new girl at school.

She was hungry. She'd been too nervous to eat that morning and now regretted it. Getting up from her seat she clambered back up through the benches and to the bar area. There was an ice bucket on the side and she added more to her glass and dug her hand into the bowl of peanuts.

Sighing she went back outside but stood leaning against the building, she couldn't face the benches again, staring down at where men hit balls with pieces of wood. If she hadn't earned his affection back after this then she never would.

"Having fun?"

She glanced up to find a pretty woman looking at her.

"Mm, I don't think 'fun' is quite the word." She said honestly.

The lady stuck out her hand with a friendly grin, "I'm Isobel Crawley."

Elsie shook her hand, "Richard's wife, Charles has mentioned you. Elsie Hughes."

"It's so good to meet you Elsie, you know he's been a changed man since he met you."

"Has he?" She turned back to the game, scanning the green for Charles.

"Very much so, not that he's spoken about you to the group or anything, but to my husband."

"Which one is your husband? I haven't been introduced yet."

"Umpire today, there, see." She grasped Elsie's arm startling her, "I can't tell you how happy we are he's finally met someone, we were worried he was destined to spend his life alone and he deserves so much more."

Elsie felt her chest tighten; she bit her lip and counted to ten in a bid to stay calm. She mustn't 'freak out' at such statements but enjoy them – that was what Beryl had said.

"Thank you for talking to me," Elsie said, "I've felt a little 'out-of-it', I must admit."

Isobel nodded, "It can be hard coming here, a lot of the members have been here all their lives and are stuck in their ways and don't forget you're the enemy now."

She almost choked on her lemonade. "Am I?"

"Of course, he has a lot of admirers."

"Aren't they all wives here?"

Isobel laughed, "Is that what he told you? No, we have our fair share of husband seekers."

"Oh, really! No, funnily enough he's never mentioned that. Has he ever dated any of them?"

"Not that I know of, though he's very private. Violet was quite formidable and I think she was a little controlling with him as a child, Richard said he was terrified when he went over to their house for tea."

"I knew Violet."

"Oh yes, from the shop, he said you were a customer."

"Yes, for a long time, over fifteen years."

"And he only asked you out last year? Even by Charles' standards that's a bit excessive."

Elsie giggled, "No, I was married. He was perfectly gentlemanly."

"I'd expect nothing less."

Elsie agreed and looked back down to the game finding three women looking up at her. She smiled back at them but whispered to Isobel, "I think I've spotted some of the husband seekers, either that or they're mocking the fact I'm under-dressed. I thought I might have to sit on grass, I think I'm the only female in trousers."

"Don't worry, you look lovely." She squeezed her arm, "They'll get used to you, but I can tell you that the brunette on the left, Laura, she's been after Charles for years."

Elsie's eyes widened at this statement, how had Charles never mentioned he had a fan club?

"He tells me you'll be joining our little games night next weekend."

"I am, if that's alright with you of course."

"Oh but of course it is, it will be lovely to see the two of you there together. He so often attends every one of our events alone, or tries to call off, we've seen the occasional date over the years but nothing lasting."

Elsie was suddenly intrigued by these so-called 'other dates', Charles made out he was virtually a monk, and she knew that couldn't be true (going on how he performed in the bedroom) but still, she wondered why he'd never mentioned past relationships.

There was a round of applause and Isobel nudged her, "Clap."

So she did. "Is that it?"

"Yes, we can have a drink and natter whilst they change. Are you doing anything this afternoon?"

She looked at her watch, "He promised to take me for lunch."

"That'll be nice, we have the grandkids around so no peace. You'll have to come over one night for dinner."

"That's very kind of you."

They wandered inside and soon the players started to filter in; Elsie remained in a quiet spot near the glass doors making the most of the sunshine. He'd changed into a light grey suit and scanned the room for her; spotting her quickly he crossed immediately to where she stood.

"Hello," she said, as he got close.

"Hello, it wasn't too bad, not too bored?"

She twisted her mouth, "Mmm, I think I'd like it more if I understood it all. And didn't have certain women fixing me a death glare."

"Oh dear, I did say."

She deliberately rested her hand on his arm, leaning towards his body.

"Yes, but you conveniently forgot to mention that some of them were hoping to marry you."

"Oh, erm, apparently so." He coughed, caught off guard. "Isobel been chatting has she?"

She nodded, "Apparently I am now viewed as 'the enemy', which is rather amusing don't you think."

He chuckled, "I quite like the idea of being fought over."

"I'm sure you do." She rested her hand on his chest.

"Are you flirting with me Elsie?"

"For their benefit, not yours."

He laughed. "So, you were talking to Isobel…"

"She's lovely."

"So are you," he leant forward and kissed her lightly, just enough, "Good enough show?"

"I think so."

"Good, let's mingle for half-an-hour then go have a late lunch, I'm starving." He put his arm around her and led her through the club.

She had the distinct impression of being shown off but it was rather nice to feel that a man wanted to do that and, more than that, she felt Charles had probably never done it before.

"This is Elsie Hughes," became a well-repeated phrase as they moved from group to group. And she smiled happily, and listened to their game chat as if she knew what it all meant. At one point she looked up to catch their reflection in a long mirror across the back wall and thought how good they looked together. She'd fit neatly right under his arm – she chuckled and the group of five men (including Charles) all glanced at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, holding up her hand, "I was thinking of something else."

Charles shook his head ruefully at her and she shrugged, rosy cheeked.

They got separated at one point and a kindly-faced gentleman with a moustache touched her arm as she returned her empty glass to the bar, "Elsie?"

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm Richard." He leant in and kissed her cheeks. "And I'm so very glad to meet you. When Charles told me he was dating a fellow scot I was overjoyed, finally someone with sense in his life."

"Oh it's so wonderful to meet you too. I have to admit Charles never mentioned that part, I had no idea you were Scottish. You travelled to Italy with him for the year didn't you?"

"God yes, nineteen and green as the moors we were. Lived in some god awful rental place and existed on cheap pasta and handouts. Violet hated it, rang him everyday for the first month to get him to come home."

Elsie was smiling, "I can imagine that. So, it's you I go to for dirt on him then?"

"Absolutely, though it's Charles we're talking about, I could probably fill about a plant pot and that's it. Where is the old rascal anyhow, abandoning a pretty girl like you?"

"We got separated," she scanned the room. "He was talking to a young man, Simon? And his wife started asking me about schools in the area and then he'd disappeared."

"Simon's new to the club, his wife is settling in too. You'll get on with her." She wasn't quite sure how she felt about being made 'part of a club' just yet but she'd vowed to give it a go and that meant more than one match.

She felt Richard's hand on her upper back, "There he is." He said, turning her to spot him.

He was hard to miss really, so tall he towered over most of the others. He had his back to her but was clearly chatting quite animatedly to a rather large-breasted brunette. The same brunette who had bestowed Elsie with such a spiteful look during the game. In Elsie's opinion she wore far too much foundation.

She all but marched over, smiling sweetly and resting her hand on Charles' back as she got to him.

"I wondered where you'd gone." She said and he turned to her as he sipped his wine, drawing his free arm around her back, his other hand dug in his pocket.

"Elsie, this is Laura. Her father was our top player here and her Grandmother patron – you've even got your Grandmother's name, haven't you?"

"As my middle name, Ethel is a little old-fashioned I think now." She held out her hand to Elsie, "Very nice to meet you."

Elsie took hold of her hand and the younger woman gripped hers and politely shook it – she had long, fake nails and Elsie's seemed rather natural and misshapen in return. "Nice to meet you too," she said.

"How have you enjoyed the day?" Laura asked.

"Well, it's my first ever cricket match so I still feel it's a bit of a mystery."

"Some people do find it hard to learn the rules…" Laura said.

"I've told her, there's no need to worry about all that, few games she'll have it." Charles stated, completely missing Laura's barb.

"How do you feel about Richie dying then? Terribly sad."

"One of the greats," Charles added.

"I heard his family turned down a state funeral."

"Yes, I read that too, can't say I blame them…"

Elsie did her best to follow their conversation but really she wasn't part of it and she knew exactly what the woman was doing. That was fine. She had no reason to be jealous, she trusted Charles completely but she didn't like rude people.

"We should get going shouldn't we?" He finally said, squeezing her to his side. "I've put you through this for too long."

"Nonsense, it's fine." She smiled up at him, "I'm fine." She said gently.

"Nice to meet you then Elsie." Laura said, "Hopefully we'll see you here again."

"Thank you, it was lovely to meet everyone here too."

They headed to the door, waving to Richard and Isobel as they left, "See you next week," Isobel mouthed.

Charles was whistling as they approached her car, dumping his cricket bag in the boot and sliding into the passenger seat – he pushed the seat as far back as it would go and hooked up his seatbelt.

Then he noticed Elsie sat forward staring at him, a most peculiar look on her face.

"What?" He asked.

"So, this Laura…?" She said forthrightly. "How old is she?"

"Erm, 42 I think. Around that."

"Then why on earth are you slumming it with a 51 year old when you could be having someone ten years younger with considerably bigger breasts."

"Does she have bigger breasts?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, "You know she does, men like big breasts."

"I like your breasts."

"Hmm…"

"Elsie, are you jealous?"

"Do you want me to be jealous?"

"That's not what I asked."

"Well, it's not what I asked neither."

He shook his head, he hated these kind of half-understood conversations, "I'm confused… are you jealous or not?"

"Why does it matter if I am?"

"Because you seem upset and more than that my self-esteem would be through the roof."

"Oh, well then!" She pouted, folding her arms and staring out of the window.

"Elspeth…"

"Don't call me that."

He smiled but quickly hid it, "Elsie, darling, are you just the tiniest bit jealous?"

She bridled, "Maybe a smidge, but only because she's younger and knows more about cricket. _Hard to learn the bloody rules_." She mimicked. "Next time we go I'm going to know everything about the sodding game."

He couldn't help but laugh at her, she was formidable when angry.

"And don't laugh, you damn well wanted me jealous, I know you spoke to her on purpose."

He shrugged, "Coincidence."

"Un-bloody-likely."

"I like it. I feel flattered."

"Whatever. Making out you're some monk-like character when those women… Have you ever dated any of them?"

'Yes. One."

"Not the breast girl!"

"No." He sucked in a tight breath, "Isobel."

Her wide-eyed expression and open-mouth was startled when someone knocked on Charles' car window and he rolled it down.

"Everything okay?"

Laura. And her sickening smile.

"Fine, just deciding where to have lunch."

"Oooh, you know I love Van Zeller." She chirped. "See you next week." And she slid into her sleek black BMW and roared off.

"Yes we're fine…" Elsie chimed as she watched her, her voice adopting a sing-song, sarcastic tone. "Now fuck off."

"Elsie!"

"Well, she couldn't be more obvious if she took her top off and said have me I'm cheap." She turned the key in the ignition and put on her seatbelt. "Privileged and spoilt but still cheap. And don't think the conversation regarding Isobel is over neither."

"Right."

He knew better than to rile her further when she was in a temperamental mood.

"And Beryl and Bill are joining us for lunch which should be a right bloody laugh because it's almost 3 and they'll have stopped serving roast chicken!"

He thought it best to keep his joke about breast meat to himself.

* * *

"What the hell's going on?" Beryl asked as she and Elsie stood at the bar ordering.

"Nothing. I'm driving so can't drink, I'll have one small glass of wine."

"I didn't mean that. You looked fuming when you came in. Was the cricket bad?"

"No, it was fine, just…" she tutted. "I'm being childish, I know I am. It's silly." She waved her hand. "Forget it. Where's the damned bar tender?"

"You can't just say that and not tell me more. It' like a moth to a flame. It wasn't what you expected?"

"No, it was, you know older, retired types and people with money. Nice enough bunch most of them, most of the players were nice to me and everyone seemed ecstatic to see Charles with a woman – which was bloody ridiculous really because it seems there's no end of women after him there that I just haven't been told about."

Beryl sniggered, "You're damn well jealous."

Elsie rolled her eyes, leaning across the bar to try and signal a bar tender. "Might as well serve myself." She complained.

"I've never seen you jealous."

"I am not."

"You are, I can't believe it, all those years Joe was screwing about and not once did you get jealous."

"Don't bring that up." Elsie was frustrated, drumming her fingers on the top of the bar.

"Making a point though." Beryl stopped her hand. "Look, I'll mind my own business and all but don't be harsh on the guy, he's starting to look worried."

Else glanced over her shoulder at Charles, who was clearly doing his best to join in Bill's conversation without taking his eyes off of her.

"Oh, I'm such a bitch." She groaned, sliding a hand through her hair. "Just that woman really riled me, I felt judged by her, as if I wasn't good enough for him."

"From the way he looks at you I'd say you don't have any issues with that. Are you going again?"

"I will, of course I will, its part of his life. And there's a party next Saturday hosted by some of his friends so a lot of them will be there."

"So don't _be_ jealous. Make _her_ jealous."

"You should be an agony aunt."

"I bloody well am love. Oi," she called down the bar, "can we get a drink here or what?"

Elsie slid into the booth next to Charles, placing his beer in front of him and sliding her hand down onto his thigh to give it a squeeze in apology.

"Alright?" he whispered.

"Yes. Just needed to vent and regain my sanity." She clinked her glass against his. "So, I didn't understand the part of the game when…"

"…Don't you dare." Beryl interrupted sitting across from them. "I did not starve myself all day to come and listen to you two talk cricket." She took a gulp of wine. "Now, Charlie, this here is my oldest, dearest friend so I absolutely need to know everything about you."

He nodded thoughtfully, "Right from birth, David Copperfield style?''

Elsie giggled.

"Yeah, probably gonna be alright this one Elsie." Beryl smiled.

* * *

Many hours later the foursome had managed to laugh their way through a late roast dinner, a bottle of wine, a few beers, treacle sponge and custard and several cups of tea before they left the pub. The sun was going down as they made their way across the car park and Elsie twirled her car keys on her finger, feeling slightly happier than when she arrived.

"I'll sort that book out for you tomorrow," Charles said to Bill shaking his hand. "If you like thrillers you'll love it, it's underrated but a great quick read."

"Can you get it in extra large font," Beryl teased. "He's blind as a bat most of the time."

"Says you. Take her glasses off she'd kiss any guy thinking he's me."

"That's what I tell him," Beryl smirked as she leant up to kiss Charles' cheek – he had to bend a considerable way it seemed for her to reach him. She squeezed his arms. "Thanks for taking care of her."

"Glad I've got your seal of approval, it's important…"

"So, I'll cook next time. Get a taxi so you don't have to drive." Elsie said. "And we can have more than one glass of wine." She squeezed Beryl's hand.

"Got it. Two weeks on Friday," Bill said hugging Elsie. "Nice to see you looking happy love."

They parted, waved goodbye and watched them drive off.

Elsie huffed, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes, "I'm exhausted."

"Me too. Usually I go to bed on a Sunday afternoon after cricket and have a nap."

"Oh, you should have said, I wouldn't have organised this. I'm sorry."

"Not to worry, I'll sleep well tonight."

She reached over and squeezed his arm, "We go months keeping this under wraps and then two highly charged meet and greets in one day."

"I feel like a celebrity." He sucked his tongue. "Sorry about the Laura thing."

She turned to fully face him now, "Oh, god no, I'm sorry. I was completely out-of-line and overreacting and just… childish and silly."

He smiled, "Can I just enjoy the moment though, you were a little jealous."

She bit her lip, "Try a lot jealous. She's a very pretty woman."

He leant forward, "And you're a very beautiful woman and I'm very much in love with you."

"Charles…" she found her cheeks were flushing as she slid her hands over his shoulders and kissed him. It soon deepened, their tongues caressing the other's, hands wandering, their breathing deepening.

"Mmm," she mumbled against his lips, "Not here."

He pressed his forehead to hers, his hand rubbing circles on her back, "Not yet." He said, his tone a little regretful.

She nodded, they parted and she started the engine.

"I think you should tell me about Isobel though, as I drive you home. You dated?"

"Yes, when we were younger, I was about 21, 22, something like that."

"Then how…?"

"Richard met her, obviously whilst she was with me, and fell in love with her and the rest is history."

She shook her head, "No it isn't." Why did men always make things seem so straightforward? "How… I mean, weren't you angry? Why is he still your best friend?"

"At the time I was devastated, thought she was the love of my life but I was only a kid and full of hormones, desperate to get laid."

She rolled her eyes.

"I know now that it wasn't love." He reached to rest his hand on hers on top of the gear stick.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me this beforehand."

"I didn't realise you'd want all the gossip."

"It's not gossip, it's your life."

"Which you've very much been a part of today."

"How different our friends are." She pointed out.

"I like Beryl and Bill. They're down to earth and fun."

"I like Isobel and Richard. They're well-spoken and friendly."

He chuckled. "Well, that's good then."

"Very good."

* * *

_Well, how nice was it to have bit of fun with them?! I'd pay Phyllis and Lesley out of my own money to film the opening bar scene :-) Let me know what you think, your reviews are a joy to read! x_


	13. Chapter 13

_Lots of flashbacks in his chapter to help you understand what's gone before and what's happening now, and how our lovely couple's relationship keeps changing._

_Some songs too, for those who like to listen as they appear. Bit of a Streisand moment as three tracks are __from her: _It Had to Be You and Come Rain or Come Shine (both from 'Partners') and The Music that Makes Me Dance. And those who know me know I'm a HUGE Mariah Carey fan so I had to get her in at least once: Make It Look Good.

Oh, and there's a little bit of risqué language here too because Thomas features and, well, he's risqué!

* * *

**Chapter 13**

**Present day – Thursday evening**

"Shall we have a brandy?" Richard asks, already pouring.

"I think so, I'm not driving. You heard from Izzy?"

"Yes. Shopping up a storm I'm sure, she'll be back tomorrow lunch. Her train gets in around 11ish." He sits across the table from Charles, sipping his liquor. "Been nice to have the place to myself." He admits, though Charles knows he's desperate to have her back, they were joined at the hip since they met and he didn't begrudge him that, even if it meant his own heart was temporarily broken.

"And how's Elsie?"

"She's busy, swamped with work. We were going to have dinner last night but she had to cancel so I've not seen her since Sunday." It's now Thursday – he thinks with a huff.

"But going well, better?"

"Seems to be, now we've cleared the air somewhat." He smiles as he sips the rich liquid, letting it run slowly over his tongue and down his throat. It's going wonderfully and his feelings have somehow grown even stronger than they were in Dubai, but he's not going to admit to that, he wants to keep something's to himself, and besides he doesn't want to jinx it.

"I'm glad." Richard says refilling his glass. "Look, I've got to say it. I've always felt guilty, as you know, after everything with Izzy."

"Over thirty years ago." Charles says waving it away with his hand.

"Yes, but still. It was a damned rotten thing to do, and we sort of worried that you… well, you've always been a bit of a loner."

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm glad you've finally met someone."

"Well, I met her a long time ago. I just couldn't have her then."

"Love at first sight? Don't tell me it doesn't exist because as you and I both know I found it."

Charles chuckled, distracted by his thoughts, the first time he ever met Elsie Hughes his mother was moaning about the blinds in the shop and it was a chilled November morning. She'd come into the bookstore as his mother had disappeared upstairs chuntering as she went and her scarf had somehow become entangled in the door as it shut, trapping her against it.

"Oh, goodness." She was startled and embarrassed as he rushed over to help.

He remembered she smelled like peaches and cocoa as he leant in to untangle the material and free her from the door.

"Thank you so much, that could have been rather deadly, I saw a film once where a woman died because her scarf got caught in the wheels of a car and strangled her."

He thought her frantic and perhaps a little eccentric.

"Well…how awful." He said searching for an appropriate response to such a wildly extravagant statement.

He laughed now thinking on it.

"What's funny?" Richard asked refilling their glasses.

"Just remembering our first meeting – we sort of established our roles immediately; her vivacious and enchanting and me stuck still not knowing what to say."

Richard chuckled, "Yes, but you've changed old boy." He sucked on his cigar. "You sure you don't want one of these?"

"You know I despise the taste."

"She's freed you up a bit."

"I rather suppose she has."

"Think you might finally do it then?"

"Do what?"

"The big question – might you finally ask it?"

"I hardly think we're at that point, three weeks ago I thought that was it."

"Three weeks can change everything."

Charles shrugged.

"Besides, no offence, but you're no spring chicken, don't let the grass go."

"I'm not going to railroad her into it, besides I think it's best if we just live together first, test the waters."

"Ask her that then."

Charles nodded, "In time…"

* * *

**Six months earlier**

He thought it such a pity they'd not done this before, such a pity she was married when they'd met, that he hadn't found her when he was young and starting out. They could have been married, had children together, travelled the world… It was fruitless to ponder such things but he found himself doing that every now and then, when he was watching her, when he found himself caught up in how utterly lovely she was.

It was Friday and she'd met him straight from work. She'd gone to the bar and he was watching her move back across the crowded pub with a drink in each hand, her purse tucked under her arm, the black dress she wore fitting her just right, just resting on her knee, she'd left her jacket on the seat beside him. She looked smart and elegant and he wished he'd had teachers that had looked like her – but then he'd probably never have gotten any work done.

"There you go," she placed a glass of wine down in front of him and handed him the dessert menu. "Just in case we wanted something sweet."

She ignored the chair at the other side of the table and sat beside him on the slightly scratchy old sofa. It was quite the traditional English pub, low ceilings and wood everywhere and a fire blazing – the kind of thing Charles loved. She was happy enough there but she was glad they'd finally done away with smoking at these places.

"Your hair looks nice by the way."

She swallowed her wine and smiled at him, "I had it cut last night," she touched the bottom, "a bit choppier but the hairdresser promised me she wouldn't make me look a fool."

He chuckled, "Far from it."

A band struck up in the other room and he knocked his glass against hers, "It's big band night, just read it on that leaflet."

"Do you like swing music?"

"Some, I don't like all these imitation guys though – Buble and the like, if I want to listen to Sinatra I'll listen to Sinatra singing Sinatra, not some kid trying to imitate him."

She giggled, taking another sip of her wine, "Fair enough."

"I bet you like him."

"He isn't what I'd choose to listen to, but if he's on the radio I wouldn't turn it off. And I probably wouldn't kick him out of bed neither."

"Elspeth Hughes!" He exclaimed, acting scandalised. "And you an upright teacher."

She placed her hand on her chest, "I'm so wicked!"

They laughed together, it was fun to be at this stage now, he was relaxing with her and joining in with her banter. She had a really dirty sense of humour and liked to laugh and it was infectious. It was the most relaxed he'd felt in years, she had this wonderful affect on him.

She touched his upper arm, just below where his shirt-sleeves finished, her skin against his. All so new and intoxicating. "Go on then, you can tell me who you'd choose."

Her touch was gone just as quickly as it was there. "As in celebrities? I grew up in the sixties remember, but I like old school glamour, Lana Turner, that kind of thing."

"Still got a soft spot for her?"

"Always." He said seriously before breaking into one of his wonderful smiles.

A slow, sexy rhythm came through from the other room, _'I'm gonna love you, like nobodies loved you, come rain or come shine.'_ The singer drawled, a deep smoky voice sliding over the slowed down version of the song.

"You hear, somebody messing with Sinatra." She pointed out.

He shook his head, "Doesn't sound too bad."

"Kinda sexy interpretation," she said biting her lip. He liked to watch her do that, how her teeth drew across it, he imagined doing that with his fingertips.

"I suppose telling someone you're going to love them like nobody's loved them is quite a confident claim to make."

She chuckled again, "I suppose so Mr Carson. Shall we order dessert?"

"Shall we dance?" He said without thinking.

She was surprised; she didn't have him down as a dancer. "Are others?" She looked up and saw they were. "I'd like to," she admitted, already getting to her feet.

She came around the table, it took him longer to unfold from the low sofa, and he liked her stood in front of him, how she looked in heels.

"We should take our things with us, find a table through there," he said, staring at her ankles.

She gathered her jacket, bag and drink and started making her way through across to the other room.

He placed his hand on her lower back as they made their way in, it was darker in there, there was another fire and it was warm with the couples on the dance floor and the band playing.

There was an empty table and she put her things down and took another sip of wine before turning to him, "Right, I'm ready." She said brightly, slapping her hands against her legs.

He took her hand, suddenly feeling quite nervous, and just as they'd got to a little corner of the dance floor the song stopped and she laughed, resting her hands against his chest. "Oh dear."

They waited, listening to the singer introduce the next song, the first notes on the piano were slow and drawn out as she sang the introduction, the dance floor was still as those on it stood watching and then the brass kicked in and the tempo increased and all knew it.

_'It had to be you…'_ the singer drawled knowingly.

Charles' hand tightened on her waist, how appropriate he thought, the songwriter was accurate, nobody else had given him a 'thrill' like she had.

"I love this song." Elsie said joyfully as she took his hand and he turned her round.

He danced well, very well, confidently. Spinning her round, drawing her close, feeling the rhythm and moving them to it. She was quite surprised! She'd never met a man who could dance and in all the years she'd conversed with him in the shop she never would have dreamt he could dance.

The volume increased as it went on, as more instruments were introduced, and their enthusiasm seemed to match it. She was giggling like she was twenty again, as her hand disappeared inside his much larger one, as she sang along to the lyrics.

When it ended there was a round of applause and Charles was reluctant to let go of her in order to join in.

"Well, that was our version of Streisand and Buble's interpretation of that song."

Elsie turned round to face Charles and made a dramatic face, at which he shook his head and pursed his lips.

"We thought we'd stick with her for our next song. A bit of a slow down so you can catch your breath."

Soft strings and a piano, most couples started to pair up and sway very slowly.

_'I know he's around, when the sky and the ground started ringing…'_ She sang huskily.

Charles thought they might sit this one out, it was definitely one of those 'smooching songs' and he doubted she'd want to, but surprisingly she stepped into his space and slid her hands around his waist, starting to move to the music.

He drew her in close, her head finding a natural space against his chest, his arms around her – they fit so perfectly together. She was warm and soft against him, all curves and perfume.

Elsie found she'd closed her eyes; she listened to the lyrics, to the rise and fall of the music, and swayed with him in a deliciously sweet moment. She wasn't quite sure what was going on with Charles Carson yet but she really wanted to find out, to explore it with him, because he was turning out to be much more than she'd ever dreamed.

* * *

**22nd December 2014**

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom Elsie took a deep breath, braced herself, and slowly untied the knot on her robe.

For a few seconds she stood still and silent, inching the material to the side in order to see more.

It didn't look half bad actually. It was silly to be so nervous, and a silly idea in itself really, at her age! But when she'd met Beryl for their last private lunch before Christmas on Saturday she'd been full of the joys of her upcoming trip to Edinburgh with Charles. Things were going well with him, slowly and tentatively, but well. And they'd made plans to do New Year right that year and enjoy Hogmanay.

And Beryl had suggested they go lingerie shopping, "Let the old boy see New Year in right." She giggled naughtily over Mulled Wine.

"I can't do that," Elsie smiled, blushing but already wrapping the delicious idea around her mind. "I've never worn things like that."

"You'll thank me for suggesting it come January," Beryl laughed. "Black. Lacy and very short and you'll be set."

"You're unbelievably wicked." Elsie smirked into her drink.

"And then I get to meet him…?" Beryl asked hopefully.

Yes, why shouldn't she? Sure things had been taken at a bit of a snail's pace but it took them two months to build up to a kiss, they'd only slept together for the first time a fortnight ago (long overdue that was!) and Charles was so very nervous at the start, timid, it had been so long since he'd been part of a relationship he seemed to keep worrying she'd just change her mind and that would be it. But she was more than happy with how things were progressing. More than happy.

So, she'd taken her friends advice and paid a little visit to the lingerie department and now here she stood. Her cheeks were blushing just looking at herself so god knows how he'd react – she hoped he wouldn't have a heart attack on New Year's Eve!

When the doorbell rang she almost jumped out of her skin, she wrapped the robe around her and pushed the gift box it came in under her bed – what if it was Charles, early for their film?

She rushed to the intercom, held down the button and panted, "Yes?"

"Elly love, it's Santa with an early gift."

Joe. She hadn't seen him for months. Not since July. Why was he here now?

"Elly, hurry up, it's freezing out here."

Well, she did have a card for him (silly really, she thought when she'd written it, why was she even bothering?) and it meant Anna wouldn't have the awkwardness of passing it on.

Knotting the tie on her robe she buzzed him in.

"So, Anna tells me you're away for New Year – that's a newbie for you isn't it, Miss Homebird."

"I thought it might be nice," she had no desire to discuss Charles with him, in fact she'd never even mentioned his name to Joe. "Tea?"

"G&amp;T?"

"No, real tea, English tea." She started to fill the kettle.

"Edinburgh though El, you sure that's wise…"

She stiffened as she filled the kettle.

"…I mean it's been years hasn't it since you've visited the homeland. Won't it all come flooding back?"

She flicked the switch on the kettle, "I'm not from Edinburgh, remember."

"All the same, Scotland is Scotland. You don't want old memories surfacing."

"I have no fear of that Joe," she folded her arms, leaning against the counter. "I never went there as a child."

He stepped closer to her, "Good. I wouldn't want you upset for New Year."

"I won't be. I'm looking forward to it."

Somehow he seemed closer still, "Need to keep you safe, and you know I only ever have your best interests at heart."

"I know that," she let her arms drop; the kettle was boiling behind her.

His hands rested on the counter either side of her body. "Only ever have." He whispered.

"I know." She murmured in return and then his lips touched hers, gently at first, testing the waters, a brief little whisper of a kiss. Then more pressure, just slightly, a bit at a time – he knew her well. And then her hands were on his chest and he was pressing her back against the counter and his tongue was in her mouth and she felt breathless and dizzy and confused.

His knee pushed between hers and she moaned something, something like surprise, something like consent. And his hands were on her, as if moving through her, tugging on the knot holding her robe together until it fell open and his hands touched the silk and he pulled back laughing.

"Bloody hell Elly, you've turned a corner. What's this?"

She snatched her robe together, her lips swollen and tingling.

"Oh now love, don't hide it." He said, easing it open again. "Let me just have a little look," and they were kissing again, nothing gentle this time, forceful and frantic, his fingers squeezed her breast, she yelped, and then his hand between her legs and she yelled.

She pushed him off, her face ashen and shocked.

"It's alright Elly, we just went a bit far. Let things get out of hand."

"I think you should go home to your wife."

"Probably right. Have a good Christmas though, hope you like the gift."

She threw both his present and the lingerie in the bin before Charles arrived and he never knew a thing about how he should have seen in 2015.

* * *

**Present Day – Friday afternoon**

Elsie was humming before she even left her classroom. It was Friday, the sun was shining and she was actually going home with no marking. She'd been up until 11:30 the previous evening getting it done but she was determined she'd have a free weekend.

She wanted to be with Charles. It was the games night tomorrow and she was looking forward to it but more than that she just wanted to see him, it seemed an age since Sunday and cricket and jealousy and his admission of love in the car park.

She felt young and giddy.

Slipping on her sunglasses she switched on the radio and pulled out of the car park. It was one of those glorious spring days – bright and clear and fresh. She felt like driving fast and singing loud and drinking wine with him outdoors, and doing other things indoors.

Surely this restraint had lasted long enough now.

She turned up the radio, tapping the beat out on her steering wheel; she'd drive directly into town and surprise him. The song was a new one to her but she liked the beat, the harmonica, she followed the lyrics, _"You make it look good… Fantasize about the way you lick your lips, Fingertips on my hips as we dip, Oh, boy, you make it look good."_

She understood exactly what she was saying!

Twenty minutes later she was parked and swinging her handbag as she walked to where his shop was.

The front door was open and there were bags of plaster open on the floor, a couple of buckets of dirty water, pipes, tool boxes, old looking sheets covering some of the surfaces.

"Closed love," a builder said as she tentatively stepped over one of the bags in her heels. "As you might well see."

"I'm looking for Charles." She said, moving to stand by the filthy window.

The builder whistled, "Charlie!" at the top of his voice.

Amused she dug her hands into her coat pockets and tucked one ankle behind the other as she waited.

He stomped in, "Don't whistle. I keep insisting on… Oh. Hi." He smiled and the builder smirked at his sudden change of mood.

"Hi," she smiled. "Thought I'd surprise you."

"Aw, isn't that nice. This your girlfriend then Charlie?" Another builder said entering the room. "Don't you worry yourself, we'll be out of here in ten minutes."

"Elsie, this is Frank and this is Sam and they're making my life a living hell."

She smiled, taking Frank's hand to shake. "Very nice to make your acquaintance," she said. "But don't make his life hell."

"He's exaggerating, we've got to keep his spirit up with a bit of gentle ribbing. You see his problem is, Elsie love," he'd slid his hand over her shoulders, "that he thinks all this," his other hand surveyed the room, "can be done in a few days. I've told him perfection can't be rushed. Something I'm sure you'll agree with." Frank said – he was almost seventy and doing the job for a favour out of respect for Charles' mother.

She giggled. "I absolutely agree. But I feel rather guilty, this was my idea."

"Then you're a genius my dear." He kissed the back of her hand. "So, what can we three young men do for you?"

"Well, I actually came to see if Charlie can come out and play."

Charles rolled his eyes at her.

"And at that I think we should take our leave… Sam!" He whistled. "Let's be off."

"I've told you not to whistle." Charles insisted as he saw them off and Elsie was laughing when he closed the door and turned back to her.

She stood in the middle of the room surrounded by dust and tools.

"Well, I must say it's not how I remember it." She said looking around.

"It's a nightmare."

"Do I get my hello now?"

Smiling gently he moved to the centre of the room, sliding his hands down her arms, "Hello."

She moved her face closer to his, "Hello." And finally kissed him.

Drawing her arms up over his shoulders she hummed against his lips, "Mmm, that's been a long time coming."

His hands had settled perfectly on her waist as they swayed together. "Long time since Sunday."

"A very long time. We have to start meeting mid-week, I need my Charlie fix." She tugged on the collar of his shirt.

"Don't you start, I have that all day."

She pouted, "Oh, I'm so very sorry. So, can you come out and play?"

They were still swaying, turning to the song that played on the radio in the other room.

"Where are we going?"

"Let's walk through the town in the sunshine and get chips and sit where there's daffodils growing."

He chuckled, "Full of the joys of spring hey?"

"Mmm," she kissed him again, "it is now the lusty month of May…"

"I'll wash and change." He said pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Check out the plans, I won't be a moment."

He took the stairs two at a time and she found the plans covered in dust on a table in the corner of the room. It seemed he'd taken on all of her advice and she was certain it would look fantastic when complete. She just hoped he wouldn't empty his savings making it happen.

They held hands as they walked through the town, nipped into shops before they closed, Elsie bought new shoes after passing them in a window and Charles couldn't believe such decisions could be made so fast – it took him at least a trawl of all the shoe shops in the area before he finally selected the one he'd buy.

As per her request they bought bags of chips and sat on a park bench in the fading sunshine eating them.

"Don't mix yours with mine," she complained, taking her bag from him.

"They're the same size."

"You put vinegar on yours," she said pulling a face. "Horrid stuff."

He shook his head as he watched her settle back and start eating; she had one leg crossed over the other and was swinging her foot in the air.

"Alright now madam."

"A-ha. I've been waiting for this all day."

"I can tell. So," he said digging a fork into his chips. "You set for tomorrow?"

"You do know I'm very competitive."

"I remember our card game from the other week."

She giggled, "I like to win."

"Well, I'll just remember to keep Laura away from you."

She turned to him pouting, "Don't tell me she'll be there."

"She might be, she might not be, I'm not sure, haven't asked. Isobel's been away all week in London so will no doubt have purchased gorgeous treats for us."

She paused in her eating, "Tell me more about this thing with Isobel."

"What's to tell?"

"Don't do that. I can tell there is," she turned more on the bench so she was facing him, her legs pressed against his. "You asked me to be honest."

"That I did. Alright, ask away."

"You once said… when we were away and…well, you know."

"Indulging our baser instincts."

She bit her lip, "Something like that. Well, you said you hadn't…" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "had so much sex since you were with your first girlfriend. Was that Isobel?"

"It was. But remember we were both young and first discovering it. We didn't do _anything like_ we did in that villa!"

"Charles!" She slapped his arm. "Shh!"

"You brought it up."

"Well, now I'm ending it." She ate another chip, "Isn't it difficult then, to see her so often?"

"No, it was a very, _very_ long time ago. And we were over before she even met Richard really; it was only a couple of months. A bit of a fling."

"You said she was a girlfriend. A proper girlfriend."

"She was."

"And how many of those have you had…?"

"Nosey."

She twisted her mouth endearingly, her eyes sparkling.

"Well, Isobel of course. And then… hmm… you."

She touched his arm again, "Charles, don't tease me."

"I'm not. Proper girlfriends you said, not brief things, not sex things, not I quite like you but I'm not sure let's have a few dates things."

She smiled gently, he was so endearing. She leant forward and kissed him. "I rather like being referred to as a _girl_-friend. Will you introduce me that way tomorrow night?"

"What should I call you?"

"How about," she turned to the side again, swinging her leg, finishing her chips, pressing her hip against his. "Your escort for the night."

"Okay. And how much do I tell them you cost, should they enquire?"

"Too much. Far too much. What about, you're interior designer?"

"And look at the mess she's got me into."

She got up, taking their chip wrappers and throwing them in a bin before she went back to him, standing in front of him and pressing her legs to his knees as she toyed with his hands. "How about your lover?" She looked up at him, eyes low and seductive.

He breathed deeply. Sighed and leant forward.

"That's a no," she said, leaning back from him, "and now I feel foolish."

"Don't," he caught hold of her waist. "Don't. I just don't want to rush things."

"I get that, I suppose," she threaded her hand into his hair, "…it's been weeks."

"You know…" He pulled her closer to him, pressing his chin against her stomach as he looked up at her. "It's getting cool, let's go for a drink and talk about it."

She nodded, helped him up and they strolled hand-in-hand to one of his favourite pubs.

* * *

She sat by the fire, checking the messages on her phone as he fetched drinks.

"Anything important?" He asked sipping his beer.

"I forgot I have to get tickets for this thing at work." She looked up at him, "I'm not sure you'll want to do it. It's the post-16 Prom, in a few weeks time. Big do you know, you get to wear a tux and there's a four-course meal and then dancing and the like. But we could leave after the meal."

"You're asking me to a work party?"

"Kind of, a school party, it's for the year 13s really. It's quite nice, some people take their partners and I thought maybe you'd like to come… I've always gone alone."

He assumed she meant she'd gone alone even when with Joe.

"I'd like that. Years since I wore my tux."

"I'm impressed you've got one hanging about."

"Always prepared." He took another gulp of beer. "So, shall we get the other thing out of the way so we can relax and have a nice evening?"

"Go on then," she put her phone away, sipped her wine, glad of it.

"You remember," he leant in closer lowering his voice despite the noise in the pub on a Friday night. "You remember when we first…?"

"Very clearly." She smiled, holding his gaze.

His eyes were wide and he breathed deeply recalling that afternoon – he maintained she'd seduced him, she claimed it was the other way around.

"Well, until then everything had been going wonderfully, a bit slow I know – on my side of things. But after that I was…"

"Full steam ahead!" She chuckled, remembering how his approach to their relationship had altered following the afternoon in her bed.

"Quite. And it was you that changed."

She sat back, as if something had hit her in the chest.

"You started to withdraw from me. I put it down to the Christmas rush and stress, then the gloom of January, looked forward to Dubai and getting you away from the stress of work and then… look what happened."

She swallowed, her fingers sliding up the stem of her wine glass.

"It wasn't because of you," she finally said. "It was nothing to do with our sex life, believe me."

"I know that now. I didn't know at the time about…about him coming to see you. And the rest of it."

He left that hanging there. They hadn't discussed her revelations since that Friday night and he still wasn't going to push her on it. They were re-building their trust and finding their intimacy and when she was ready she'd bring it up.

"But despite how you pushed me away following New Year the sex was good, in fact it got better, and I suppose I'm just worried that somehow that will replace this – us, just enjoying being together."

She covered his hand with hers, "Oh Charles, it couldn't." She leant over and kissed his cheek. "Not now, it will just be part of it, part of us. But I do understand and you know I'll wait…despite how irresistible you are."

He puffed his chest out, "I know. But just keep your hands to yourself Elsie Hughes… for now."

She watched him over her glass, shaking her head before she sipped her wine. Dear, sweet man.

* * *

**December 2014**

She took him to bed for the first time on a Saturday afternoon in early December when everywhere was frozen and the whole world busier than usual.

He'd come over to take her out for lunch, talking Thomas into running the shop for a few hours; they were finding it hard to find time together. She worked all week and found evenings difficult. Her weekend was her free time. Saturday was his busiest day.

So, they had about three hours to get something to eat and have a chat. She'd offered to come into town but he wanted to take her elsewhere, somewhere away from what they knew, so he drove to her flat.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, as they went into the kitchen.

"Yes, sure." He shrugged his coat off and laid it over one of the chairs, well, they were more like stools. He pulled one out and attempted to sit. "How do these work?"

She turned from preparing the tea and chuckled, "They aren't the most practical things, and well, you're rather tall."

"Been a problem all my life." He quipped.

"Do you want plain English Breakfast? Or I have fruit, or I think some Lady Grey." She was on her tiptoes peering into a cupboard, her feet were bare (which turned him on immensely) and she was wearing loose black trousers and a tight black jumper and when she stretched it went up and he could see the very tip of lacy purple underwear peeking out (which also turned him on immensely).

He licked his lips, "Charles?" she asked looking over her shoulder at him.

"Oh, erm, Lady Grey might be nice."

She turned back to the cupboard smirking; she'd caught him looking at her ass, this very upright English gentleman. She didn't think a man had looked at her in that way for a very long time and she was rather chuffed at the fact she still had the ability to turn heads… to turn _a_ head.

Suddenly lunch didn't seem so appealing.

She'd always wondered how long it had been since he last dated a woman, and in that case how long since he'd last slept with a woman. They'd kissed of course; that first time on his couch and then after every date and lots of hugs that went on slightly longer than they needed to. But there'd been no rolling on the couch or heavy groping. He was always a gent. Waiting for her to give the green light it seemed.

Waiting for the kettle to boil she leant back on the counter and stared at him through heavy eyes, he looked very handsome sitting there all big and burly, in beige slacks and a black t-shirt, how he stood out against her white cupboards.

She deliberately bit down on her bottom lip, drawing her teeth agonisingly slowly across it. She noted his eyes on it, then moving lower as she pushed her hips back and chest forward. Definitely more interesting things to do than lunch, she decided.

Moving to the table with their cups she deliberately brushed his leg with hers, her knee knocking against his as she set up the teapot. He suddenly rested his hand over her wrist and looked at her with such dark intensity – perhaps she'd been wrong about his not taking the lead.

"Do you want to do this?" He'd asked so huskily, the implication of his words so obvious in the charged kitchen.

She moved her face to his, touching his lips lightly with hers, once, twice, and then his hand was on her back and they were kissing properly, his tongue in her mouth; she returned it with equal vigour.

When she pulled back from the kiss he seemed disappointed but she took his hand, made him stand, and led him through the flat to her bedroom.

They stood kissing at the foot of her bed for an age and she worried he would have to go back to work before they did anything at this rate, so she tiptoed her fingers under his t-shirt, before sliding her palms over his warm skin and pushing the shirt up and over his head.

She stood back, giving him permission to do the same with her gaze – and so he did. Peeling her jumper up over her head like undressing some fragile, delicate china. She had the fairest freckled skin. And then perfect, wonderful breasts that stood proud in a lacy purple bra. He cupped his hand under one, feeling the curve of it, the weight of it. His penis suddenly seemed connected to his fingertips as when he touched it immediately sprang forward – far from being embarrassed he was just glad it hadn't forgotten what to do!

"You're very beautiful," he said lowly.

"Thank you," he made her feel beautiful, the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, as if she were breakable.

She closed the gap between them and kissed him again, sliding her palms over his chest, across his nipples.

"You're sure you want to do this?" He asked.

"Oh goodness," she kissed him thoroughly, touched his body with hers, leaving him in no doubt as to what she wanted.

They were soon naked and rolling around in her bed, legs trapped between each other's, nervous and tentative as much as eager and clumsy.

She rolled onto her back, encouraging him to come with her, and parted her legs for him beneath the sheets.

He moved gently, nervously, lying between her thighs as if he'd won a prize. She could feel his very hard penis pressing against her as they kissed and he kept moving – too high at first, then too low. The longer they lay like that the more nervous he seemed to become.

"Charles," she finally said, her hands on his shoulders. "We're naked in bed together. I can feel how much you want me. So relax, stop worrying about what may or may not happen and just relax and enjoy it. As much as it's possible to enjoy first times."

His eyes were wide and expectant as she slid her hand between them and grasped his erection, she slowly guided him inside her and was rewarded with the most delicious groan of pleasure she'd ever heard.

It was all perfectly nice and everything worked fine, but his was a safe, tried and tested method, and it took her a while to get into it. Slow rhythm. Fast rhythm. Groaning and panting and the squeaking of her bed.

He could kiss though. She couldn't get enough of that.

"You're not enjoying it," he whispered by her ear, crestfallen, "and I so want you to enjoy it."

She was surprised he'd spoken and turned her face on the pillow to his. He was still inside her and she couldn't help but marvel at how much restraint that must have taken, and how different a man he must be to openly acknowledge when things weren't working. Most men thought they were Gods in bed and all it took was a bit of huffing and puffing and she'd happily climax for you. Clearly, he thought differently.

"It's not that I'm not enjoying it."

"But it's not that good?"

She slid her hand into his hair, "You seem tense."

He closed his eyes, "It's been quite a while… I don't want to mess it up."

"Perhaps we could just…" she shifted her bottom a bit on the bed, moving down to change the angle and he sank further inside her, which they both moaned at. It meant she could move her hips more instead of feeling trapped on the mattress beneath him.

"Now," she pressed her hands against his bottom and he stared at her wide-eyed. "Just very slowly…" He pulled out of her, then she pressed him and he moved back in, back and forth, his entire length until she drew her legs up and around him, shortening the stroke, quickening the roll of her hips in tangent with his.

And then it was natural and he forgot about screwing it up and instead enjoyed every pleasure-filled second.

He came with a great roar of her name, pounding inside of her until she climaxed too, her nails gripping his shoulders as she did. And then he fell against her, chuckling and kissing her.

"Ohhhh god! Oh, I'd forgotten how good that felt!" He said and she laughed so hard.

"I'm not sure you're meant to say that to the woman you've slept with for the first time."

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly, cheeks red, but a great smile filling his face. "Mind if we do it again?" He asked and she laughed again, he was like a boy.

"I thought you had to go back to work…"

He glanced at the clock on her bedside table, "Shit, I do, in about twenty minutes."

"Then I'd rather wait for round two than settle for a quickie."

Now he laughed, she was so wonderful, so down to earth, so approachable. He kissed her deeply, hovering above her.

"Are we still having dinner tonight?" She asked, sitting in her bed and watching him dress.

"Of course, I've booked the table, I'll pick you up at 7:00."

"Great, well, have a lovely afternoon at work."

He leant over her on the bed, "Mmm, thank you, I'll miss you til then."

And he was gone, racing back into town and smiling all the way.

When he got in the shop was absent of customers and Thomas was leaning over the counter looking very, very bored.

"What the hell's happened to you?" he asked standing up, "Look like you've won the lottery. Bugger me did you finally get some pussy?"

"Oh god Thomas, don't use that vulgar word."

"You did didn't you, you sly dog! Leaving me bloody here so you can get laid."

Quite suddenly, his smile had disappeared, "You're pushing it Thomas."

"Come on… how long's it been without, no wonder you're grinning like a Cheshire Cat. What the fuck you doing here, get back and give her some more."

"I can do without your smutty deliberations and cheap language. And I'm back because you said you could only stand 3 hours looking after this place."

"Well, I can stomach a few more if I know you're getting some. Now I've gotta tell you mate women like all that, dirty talk, you start telling her how much you want her pus–,"

"Don't!"

"Just saying, she'll give it up."

"And you know so much about women."

"I know about sex. I'm telling you, you talk dirty to her, she'll love it. Now get going, I'll lock up with the spares."

"Don't forget to set the alarm…" Charles said as he raced back through the door and to his car.

He did nothing but think about her naked in bed the entire drive back, about how she smelled, the feel of her skin, how confident she was when they were in bed – telling him what she wanted and how. He'd thought about it so much he had the most massive erection and it was awkward to walk to her flat from the car park.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, a half-smile on her face, as he climbed the stairs to her door. "You said you had to work."

She was still in her dressing gown, her hair still mussed and that same warm, soft look she'd had when he left.

Without saying a word he lifted her up and kicked the door shut behind him, carrying her back to bed.

She had no further complaints about Charles' performance in the bedroom.

* * *

_So, there it is - a little bit of sexy times for you from the past to tide you over! Busy day tomorrow so it may be a couple of days before I can update again. Hope you'll stick with me - highlight of my day is reading your comments. x_


	14. Chapter 14

_A little bit of a shorter chapter I'm afraid but I wanted to get something out – roll on the weekend when I have time to just sit and write! :-)_

**Chapter 14**

They plan to drive to Knaresborough mid-morning on Saturday, simply to enjoy the spring weather and each other's company. He picks her up at 10:30, rings her bell and waits for her to come down, leaning against the car door as he does so.

Shutting the door behind her she turns, stops and stares at him dangling keys at her.

"Whose is that?" She blurts out, rather uncouthly, her accent strong in both shock and excitement.

"Ours today." He says with a grin, one leg tucked behind the other, looking easy and relaxed. "Jaguar. Convertible –," He doesn't get to finish because she's half-running, half-skipping, towards him.

"Ahh!" She yelps grabbing the keys from his fingers, "Can I drive?" She's already leaning around him looking at the beautiful vehicle.

"Like it then?"

"Sooo much. Whose is it?"

"Richard's. I may have mentioned earlier this week that you had a thing for convertibles and this morning," he shrugged, "I saw the sun and I figured I'd ask him. We better not scratch it because I think it's worth more than my life insurance."

"Oh you're so wonderful," she drops her bag into the back of the car with her jacket.

"So, do I get a thank you?"

She cups his face in her hands and kisses him quickly, "Thank you. Thank you. Let's go."

She's already at the driver's door getting in, moving the seat into her preferred position and turning the key in the ignition.

"Anything I should know? How does it handle?"

"Beautifully."

"As if I'd expect anything less."

She checks her mirror before easing out into the street.

"I'd always wanted one of these," she admits as they settle into the drive. "I think it suits me," she casts him a quick look – a pout and shaded eyes – and he chuckles.

"Yes, I believe it does."

"Maybe Richard will let me keep it, or even better, what if I bet him for him tonight – what's he absolutely going to lose at?"

"He's quite poor at lawn bowls, not got the eye for it."

"That's it then, that's what I'll play. How much money will I need?"

"As much as you want to gamble…and lose."

"How much do you take?"

"Couple of hundred."

"A couple of hundred pounds?! To a games night."

"They aren't childish games." He laughed. "It's serious stuff."

"Obviously. I'm quite excited though," she said, glancing in her mirror. "A little nervous, but excited too."

"Why nervous?"

"Because it's your friends and something you do a lot and I want to fit in and not show you up."

"As if you could."

"Believe me I could. Don't let me drink too much, though if I'm driving I won't be able to so it won't matter."

"Oh yes, that's another thing."

"Another thing?" She said, mocking his serious tone.

"They've asked us to stay. I mean we don't have to, they won't take offence. A few people do, it's a pretty big place and there's a nice breakfast tomorrow."

"When you said Isobel was rich you meant she was really rich, didn't you."

"Pretty much. Her father invented something, I don't know, shoe ties or sandwich packs, I never remember – something that seemed insignificant but made him a mint."

"Clearly. Why did I never sit around thinking of shit to invent…? Ah yes, because I was out milking cows at the crack of dawn."

He smiled, she didn't often mention her childhood and now whenever she did he couldn't help but tinge the experience with sadness. He guessed not everything could have been bad but it had clouded his reactions to her stories somewhat.

"Well, it's up to you. I might stay, I always have the same room."

"Do you usually stay?"

"Usually yes, I like the brandy they serve."

"But of course you do." She brushed her hair back from her face. "And do you…I mean, have you stayed with a woman before?"

"You mean have I taken a date there with me?"

She nodded, sucking on her bottom lip.

"No Elsie, I haven't." He doesn't feel he needs to explain why not. "That's not to say I wasn't asked to."

She sits more upright in the seat, "Good," is all she says. "When we go back to change I'll pack an overnight bag."

* * *

They take their time wandering around the castle ruins, it's a cool spring day but bright and there's no need to rush, a lovely, lazy drawl to the day.

He lets her gabble on about the history of the place, happy to have his own private guide.

"This is the East Gate," she says as they approach it. "You know what I love most about it – you'll think it soppy."

"Go on."

"That when I stand inside I can still picture how it would have looked, sounded, the hustle and bustle, the smells. And it's on our doorstep."

He digs in his pocket for money to pay their entrance and she picks up a leaflet, it's not too busy yet, a month or so more and it will be, and they can walk around without feeling rushed or straining to hear each other. He's a few steps behind her and she waits just inside, taking hold of his arm as he comes in. She cuddles against him, "You know the first mention of Knaresborough was in the Domesday Book, 1086. There are times I bemoan the fact we spend months with dark mornings and dark nights and rain and rain and rain…but I do love that we have this."

She feels soft and warm against him and he's content to just wander and listen.

When she's exhausted her knowledge and their feet are getting tired they buy takeaway teas and sit near the lawn drinking.

"I'm glad of this," my fingers have gone cold." He admits, cradling the polystyrene cup.

"Mine too, and my toes. Roll on summer."

"I miss the heat of Dubai, all those hours lying in it, nothing but a lounger and the pool." He closes his eyes as he sips the tea.

"And the beach, the sound of the ocean." Her smile is soft, "it was a pretty perfect destination I picked."

"It was indeed."

"Until I messed it up on that last day." She blows across the top of her cup. "You know, up until Christmas I was quite happy with how we were progressing, and then… well after Joe showed up and then you suddenly were all in following our New Year break and I suppose I got scared."

"Can I ask… I don't want to pry."

"Ask away." She sipped her tea.

"The divorce. What changed? What made it happen?"

"He left me. That's what happened."

He's not quite sure how he feels now he has that knowledge.

"Just one night told me that it was over, he'd met somebody else and that was it. Left the next day. Though of course he kept coming back for clothes and things until he moved in with her permanently – Sarah – the odd thing was by the time it happened it wasn't even a surprise. We'd had such horrible years; the only thing I enjoyed was my work and Anna. I felt so lonely in the rest of my life, like I wasn't really there." She leant towards him on the bench, resting her head against his arm.

She doesn't want to tell him that three months after the divorce was finalised Joe showed up claiming he'd made a mistake, he wanted to come home, and they ended up in bed together. That after she felt humiliated and disgusted when she realized it was nothing but sex, that he'd visited and cajoled and sweet-talked just to fuck her, because he could, because she let him. The very next day he'd left again. She contacted an estate agent and put the house on the market.

For a long time they sat in silence watching the world go by, her body pressed against his side, his chin on her head.

Finally he says, "Let's go have cake, that tea was rubbish. Let's have proper tea and proper cake."

"Mmm," she lifts her face up to his and he kisses her gently. "Beautiful woman."

There's a sad smile to her when he brushes her cheek and he wonders what she's thinking of.

But she gets up, hooks her arm through his and they walk into town.

He orders chocolate cake, she has lemon, and they swap and taste and drink strong tea giggling over their indulgence.

"When are we going bed shopping?" She suddenly asks and he gawps at her.

"Not so loud, people will wonder what I'm doing to you."

_'Nothing'_ she thinks but bites her tongue.

"Well?"

He shrugs, "Plumbing should be done today which means plastering on Monday, decoration towards the end of next week. Then bed shopping. And furniture shopping. And book rearranging."

"That's the bit you're looking forward to," she says waving her pastry fork at him.

"Absolutely. I've missed them."

She refills their teacups, shifting in her chair to get her legs comfy. "What do I have to wear tonight?"

He has no idea what women wear to these things! "Just trousers and a shirt."

She laughs, "No, that's what you wear. I'm not risking trousers after the cricket, I was the only woman there not dressed up and flirty."

"You don't even need to try…" He says polishing off his cake then looking up quickly, "I meant that in a nice way."

"I worked that out. Is it really dressy, formal, jeans – what?"

"Most just wear smart looking clothes," he shrugged, "I don't know. Why are you so worried?"

"I've told you why, I don't want to let you down."

His fingers brushed her arm, "Elsie, just you agreeing to come is enough."

"Hmm, well, we'll see. And this breakfast, I mean who's staying? Is that horrible woman staying?" She puts her cup down sharply.

He smirks, "Laura? She isn't horrible really, you've just got to get to know her."

"I think you and I have different versions of what 'horrible' consists of. She was horrible."

He shakes his head, reaching for the fork he'd discarded and using it to break off a piece of her cake.

"Hey. I haven't finished with that."

"You're too slow."

She has one last bite then relinquishes the rest to him.

"I want to take something for Isobel – are flowers too boring?"

"You don't have to take a thing, they won't expect it."

"But I want to. So are they?"

"She likes bright colours," he says sitting back in his chair. "Large petals."

"Right. We'll go to the florists next. Then time to go home, have a shower, get ready."

He twists his watch on his wrist, "Els, we've got over three hours before we have to set off."

"Then you'll have a lovely long time to get your hair right."

"Very funny. I've got to get the car back anyhow, so I'll drop you off and do that."

"Oh…"

"Oh what? We can't keep it."

"Not that. I mean, I don't want to arrive on my own."

"Well I…" he notes her pleading eyes. "I'll come back for you, I'll get a taxi."

She squeezes his hand. "I'm going to use the bathroom here before we go."

He picks up the order from the table, "I'll pay…" But she's already thrusting a note into his hand and he wonders just how she repressed this stubborn independent streak for so long.

* * *

He's been watching the news channel for so long he's seen the headlines play through at least four times. Tapping the remote control against his leg he wonders again how long it takes to get dressed and brush your hair.

He crosses his legs in front of him, sighing heavily. Her phone rings and she yells from the bedroom, "Get that please Charles."

"Hello." He says digging his hand into his pocket as he stands.

_"Oh, hello."_ Anna. _"I didn't expect you…she's got you answering the phone now."_

"Hi," he sits down, genuinely glad of the distraction. "She's getting ready, been hours." He says lowly.

_"Oh yes, it's the party isn't it. Whatever she wears reassure her she looks stunning and you'll be fine."_

"She always does anyhow. How are you? The exams?"

_"Going okay I think, I wanted to call and thank mum for the survival pack."_

"What's that consist of?"

He hears her shuffling papers about. _"Stuff she'll know I need; Wispa bars, Diet Pepsi, face masks, cheesy Wotsits. And cool stationery. Essentials, ya know."_ She giggles and he smiles.

"That's sweet."

_"It is. She's always done it. My housemates get jealous."_

"When do you have to leave your house there?"

_"End of July officially but I'll be back before then, find something to do with my time so I'm not just loitering around Mum's flat whilst I wait to get a job. I might come up later this week for a couple of days, not decided yet."_

"Well, if you fancy a part time job in a book store over the summer just say."

_"I may just take you up on that."_

"I've taken up too much of your time, I'll hand you over to your mum." He gets up from the couch and heads through to the bedroom.

_"Don't be silly, I like talking to you. And thanks for waiting for her, being patient, and well… all the other stuff you're doing. Told she was great beneath it, didn't I."_

"You were right." He says, watching Elsie in front of the mirror doing her hair.

He hands the phone across and leaves them to talk.

Thirty minutes later there's a taxi bleeping outside and he's standing in the hallway, he's never known her to take so long, in Dubai she'd be ready for dinner in fifteen minutes.

"Els…" he says again, tapping his foot.

"I said I'm coming, and I am." She says, finally emerging from the bedroom and coming towards him. "You've got my overnight bag?" He wobbles the bag in his hand. "Where's yours?"

"I dropped it off earlier."

She finally stands still in front of him. "Okay, ready."

"Stunning." He leans forward and kisses her, he intended it to be a sweet reassurance but she smells so good he finds it turning into a much more heated exchange.

"I've just done my lipstick," she whispers, her hand against his chest.

"Mmm, and we'll be late. Distracting me, that's how you'll win tonight."

"Oh god, the flowers!" She exclaims, dashing into the kitchen to get them. He hopes she'll relax soon.

* * *

There are already cars blocking the driveway when the taxi drops them off and she's fiddling with the necklaces she's layered up, and the bangles on her wrist, wondering if it's too much.

He comes around to her, overnight bag hanging over one arm, flowers in his hand, and takes her hand kissing the back of it. "Ready to go?"

"It's a huge house."

"I did say." His thumb is brushing her hand. "So, ready?"

She nods, "Yes. You're sure I look okay…?" she fusses as they make their way up the drive.

He bypasses the front door and they go around the side of the house to the garden. It's dark now but there are lights everywhere she looks – like fireflies in the trees; candles on tables, garlands hung from the building. Heaters are placed around and by the end of the night she's sure people will be gathered around them.

She can smell barbecue and notes a man in chef's whites by a grill, a hog roast turning, potatoes roasting and a whole buffet of accompaniments. She holds onto his left hand with her right, her other hand coming across gripping his arm.

"Sweetheart," he whispers. "I can't feel my fingers."

And she loosens her hold, biting down on her bottom lip. She's not really sure why she's so nervous – perhaps because the cricket had been a little awkward, or because this is more intimate, somebody's home, his friends, real friends, people who've known him for years. She doesn't have friends like that – she has Beryl and Bill and her work colleagues but that's it. There must be fifty people there already at least.

"We'll say hello then I'm going to ply you with wine." He says.

"Oh thank god." She murmurs in reply.

He leads her through the French doors into the conservatory area then into the large, open-plan kitchen and she's trying not to count the bottles of wine and liquor lined up on a counter when she hears Isobel's voice.

"Ah, you're here, how wonderful."

And she has to let go of Charles because she's being drawn into a hug and having her cheeks kissed.

"And you look so lovely, what a wonderful colour on you."

"Thank you. Your home is so very beautiful."

"Well, thank you. It wasn't like this when we bought it, believe me, I spent years getting it right." She leans past her to kiss Charles. "Hello darling, how are you?"

"Very good."

"You look it." She says fondly, casting a glance at Elsie.

"These are for you, Els chose them."

"How kind of you, nobody ever brings me presents to these things. These will brighten up the breakfast table. You are staying aren't you?"

"Yes, if that's okay, I don't want to impose."

She squeezes her arm again, "Think nothing of it. Has Charles shown you your room? You've got time to take your bag up; we'll be popping the Champagne and fireworks in about twenty minutes. I better go and check on things. See you later."

"Fireworks?" Elsie mouths turning to him.

He shrugs, "It's a bit of over-the-top fun, just enjoy it, it's not really me neither but it's good fun. She and Richard always push the boat out with these things. Come on."

She follows him through the house and it quietens as they move away from the kitchen and outdoor space.

"I need to take my shoes off," she whispers as they reach the plush carpet of the main hall, and he does the same.

Barefoot she digs her toes into the carpet, figuring it probably cost more than her car, and follows him up the stairs.

"The end of the landing I think, best view out of this one. And it's got the largest bath."

Why is she not surprised every room has it's own bathroom?

"Here we are," he flips the light on as the door swings open and she steps in, noting his bag in the middle of the large bed.

"We're sharing a room?" She says turning to him.

"Well, they'd just done it, organised them all – each one has an occupant, I always have this room, they just assumed we'd be…" He dropped her bag next to his. "I felt a bit foolish explaining how we're…"

She raised an eyebrow, shutting the door behind her. "Abstaining?" She sits on the bed, bouncing to test how comfy it is. "Sure you can keep your hands to yourself Mr. Carson?"

He licked his bottom lip, "I thought a cuddle might not be out of the question."

She chuckles, "How risqué – don't be thinking you can take advantage of me just because I'll have been drinking and am in a strange bed."

He's standing in front of her now, leaning over her, "I wouldn't dream of it."

She lifts her hand to trail up his back, "Sure you wouldn't."

They kiss for a long, deep moment until she pushes him back at the sound of commotion downstairs.

"Must be getting ready to start." He holds his hand out to pull her up from the bed, "Come on, lets get some Champagne."

* * *

Charles is sitting in the swing chair beneath the tree nursing a glass of French brandy and few squares of rich, dark chocolate when Richard pulls a chair up to sit beside him.

"Having a quiet moment?" He says, noting Charles' closed eyes.

"Mmm. Just enjoying being decadent for a change. Great night – as usual. You've done yourselves proud."

"She has. She loves all this, entertaining. Making people happy."

"I know."

They sit quietly for a while listening to the music, the chatter over card games, the light smack of bowls down on the lawn, excited giggles as money is exchanged.

"The car went over well then?"

Charles eyes opened and his face broke into a warm grin, "She loved it, we had a good morning actually, just wandering and talking. It's really starting to click. Just don't ask her about her Politics."

"Not a Tory then?"

"God no, don't even start her on it."

"Could be cause for a row, come the election."

"Let's hope not, had enough of that for the year."

"You never did say what happened."

Charles swirled the liquid in his glass, "I suppose she got cold feet, I moved too fast and scared her off," he shrugged, "things like that."

"Well, she seems to be enjoying herself tonight." He nudged Charles' elbow, pointing out where Elsie was throwing dice over the craps table.

"She does indeed."

"Things going okay with the renovations too, you alright financially?"

"Don't ask me things like that…" Charles said taking a gulp of his brandy.

"Izzy wanted to check you were okay."

"It's going fine and yes I'm fine for money."

"You know we're only asking because you're our oldest friend."

"Yes, I know…" he turned his attention back to Elsie leaning over the table. "I'm glad she's relaxed, I've never seen her so nervous. And I'm glad Laura is keeping out of he way." He sat forward in his chair, ceasing the swing by planting his feet firmly on the ground. "She did not take well to her."

Richard chuckled, "So we best not telling her you nearly had a fling with her a few Christmases back?"

"Don't dare mention it. Can't believe I even considered it."

"One too many glasses of festive punch my friend, Izzy had almost convinced you to ask her out." He touched Charles' arm, "You best go rescue her, I think George may be on the move. And er… isn't that Laura joining the game?"

"Oh crap." Charles put his glass down and pushed himself off, his body felt weary and he glanced at his watch. A quarter to eleven.

"Black Jack soon, shall I save you a seat?"

"Save two."

He dug his hands into his trouser pockets, kicking the gravel as he made his way to her – how was it that his heart still sped up at the thought of being near her? He could still recall how it beat the first time he asked her out. The first time he'd touched her hand. The first time they'd kissed on his couch.

"Hey, how you doing?"

He said coming up behind her and she turned excitedly, placing her hands on his shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes. "Well, I've got more money than when I started."

"Ooh, how much more?" His hands easily fell to her waist.

"Three pounds and twenty pence more." She boasted, and he laughed. "Don't mock, I could win big yet. How about you?"

"Won £45 on the maths quiz." He said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She glared at him, "£45! How?"

He shrugged, "I'm pretty good at the games nights."

"You never told me that."

"You never asked."

She hit him in the stomach with her purse, "Holding out on me."

"Elsie, you going to roll?" one of the other players said.

"I'm the shooter!" She said confidently, stepping back to the table; this was the lively fun woman he knew. He was glad she'd got over the nerves and come out to play.

He stood directly behind her, so close when she moved she stood on his foot.

"What are you doing?" She asked, flustered, distracted from her game.

"Protecting your bottom."

"What…?!"

"The bottom pincher..." he whispers before greeting the man, "George," Charles suddenly says loudly, "How nice to see you."

"Charlie boy, good to see you. And who is this fine you filly you've brought along."

Elsie's eyebrows rose and she slowly looked up from the table to see an older man leering at her. She wanted to laugh; she'd not been called a 'filly' in her life.

"This is Elsie."

"Elsie, Elsie, my dear, well…" He took her hand, still holding the dice, and kissed it. "Spoken for then are you?"

"It would appear so," she smiled, taking her hand back and throwing the dice.

Charles watched as they rolled, enjoying the feeling of her leaning back against him, the fragrance of her hair by his face. The fact that many of the people at that table he'd known for many, many years and they'd never seen him with a woman.

The table yelled in delight and she screamed in front of him, jumping and turning to hug him. He held onto her, "I take it you won?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm naturally good at it. I must be."

"Not a bad win Elsie," Laura said and Charles wasn't sure if she meant the game or him, the way she looked them over.

She happily collected her winnings, "Quit whilst I'm ahead." And joined him at the Black Jack Table.

* * *

It was almost two before they left the game and headed up to bed. Most had gone home by then or retired for the night and Charles' eyes hadn't functioned right for at least an hour.

He let her use the bathroom first, amused when she tiptoed out with the robe from the bathroom around her, "They even provide bathrobes." She exclaimed. "It's like a hotel."

"Help me up Els," he groaned, holding his arms up from the bed. "I'm getting too old for these late nights."

She took his hands and pulled, "Good job I wasn't hoping to get lucky." She kissed him quickly.

"I feel lucky." He assured her.

"That's your winnings from cards burning in your pocket."

She waited until he'd shut the bathroom door before she took the robe off and climbed beneath the expensive, pristine cream sheets and settled back. She'd never imagined she'd be sharing a bed with him and as such had brought one of her comfy t-shirt nightgowns for bed (something she would never have worn in front of him, it was shapeless and baggy) and then she'd spent an age in the bathroom debating whether she should leave her knickers on or not (she decided on 'on' for the sake of propriety).

Clearly Charles had no such worries, emerging bleary eyed from the bathroom in nothing but his boxers and with damp, mussed hair.

He climbed in beside her, shuffling down and plumping his pillows. She switched off the lamp and lay beside him.

"It's been weeks since we shared the same bed," he said into the darkness, reaching for her waist and pulling her back against him. He kissed the back of her neck, humming against her skin. "This is nice."

"Very nice," she agreed, her hand folding over his. She closed her eyes, sinking into the softness of the pillow.

"I'm glad you had a good time," he whispered.

"I'm glad I did too." She played with his fingers, sliding hers back and forth along his. "And I really did, such good fun, I felt as giddy as a child when I won."

"It's addictive. Richard and I started it at University, just card nights then, and it grew to this."

"It's a lovely idea to get everyone together for it." She yawned and patted his hand. "Night Charles."

"Goodnight love."

* * *

The next time Elsie was aware of conscious thought she was laying on her back and Charles' mouth was on her neck, his hands wandering, and had this sweetly delicious tingle of anticipation in her stomach.

She leisurely opened her eyes, her hands sliding up over his back, and as he realised she was awake he moved his mouth up to hers, meeting hers in a deep kiss.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, rolling over her breasts, her nipples beneath his palms, down her arms, over her ribcage, pushing up the nightgown between them until it bunched beneath her breasts.

She trailed her fingers over his bare back, kissed him back just as fiercely, as longingly. His legs were pressing against hers, skin against skin, and she curled her foot up over the back of his leg, rubbing with her heel.

He rolled them onto their sides, pressing her against him, his hands cupping her bottom and then moving to her thigh, lifting her leg up and over him. Her hands were in his hair, on the back of his neck, her fingernails causing that delicious friction he loved so much. He felt hot and heady and so entirely enamoured with his feelings for her.

"God, I want you…" he mumbled, his thumbs hooking into the top of her knickers, doing his best to tug them down. "I want you."

Somehow her brain kicked in and she squirmed against him, pressing her hands firmly against his chest. "We can't…" she panted, shifting her mouth out of his reach. "Not here."

He rolled her onto her back again, hovering over her, pressing between her legs until she moaned his name.

"Charles we can't…"

"I need you now." He breathed against her skin, his tongue on her neck again.

"I know, I know." She pressed her hands firmly against his shoulders forcing him to look at her in the dim light of the room. "Not here honey, I've not waited all these weeks to have a rushed, silent encounter in your friend's bed."

"You're so tempting." He wants to kiss her again, bugger where they are, he wants to love her in every way he can. But he knows she's right, as turned on as he is right now, he'd regret it. When they make love again he wants to be alone with her, to spend hour upon hour loving her with no threat of having to get up or go anywhere. He wants to love her until she says she loves him back.

"I might need a splash of cold water," he says rolling off of her, to which she smiles.

She's snuggled back in bed by the time he returns and she rests her head against his chest when he lies down.

"Better."

"Not really. I'm going to try and think of something else."

"Want me to sleep on the other side of the bed?"

"No," he kisses her head, wraps his arms around her. "I like holding you."

"I like being held."

He looks at the red numbers of the clock blinking in the darkness, 4:43.

"Go to sleep," she whispers, and he closes his eyes. Happily frustrated.

* * *

_Apologies for any errors - it's late and my eyes are tired! Hope you enjoyed the games! x R_


	15. Chapter 15

_A little fun, a little serious, a little flashback and some sexy times as we slowly inch forward in building this relationship._

**Chapter 15**

How normal it feels to wake beside him, she thinks, lying in the stillness of the room. It's still early and the house is quiet. She can only begin to imagine the mammoth task of clearing up after all that went on, of how many sore heads and empty pockets there'll be when people emerge for breakfast.

Truth be told she's still amazed that people have these kind of parties – though she wouldn't say so to Charles. These are his friends and this is the life he knows but it's certainly not the one she does. Or has known. Money and decadence were not at the forefront of her life. Raising a child and putting herself through university. Trying to hold together a family and suppress her own insecurities. Hard work, that's what she knows, late nights and early mornings is what she knows, she wonders how hard Isobel has had to work in her life. Though she's a kind woman and clearly she cares for Charles, as does Richard, but she wonders if they'll ever be her friends – Isobel certainly has little in common with Beryl.

That's the joy of building a relationship though isn't it, trying to find a way to mesh the two different lives together? And she mustn't be mean… though the fact she refers to Charles as 'darling' riles her. It isn't like her to be jealous and she's mature enough to move beyond it, but there's a niggle every now and then, a splinter of concern.

Her back aches from the unfamiliar bed. She turns onto her side and watches Charles sleep.

He said they host these things a few times a year and she can't help but wonder if she'll be with him at the next one. She isn't being melancholy, just practical. This is the most secure they've been in their relationship and she can't imagine not being with him, not now, but beyond that what does the future hold?

If she forces herself to dig down inside, to confront herself, how does she really feel? Is this love? She thought she loved Joe, she thought that was love, so what does she know really? She cares for him, she wants him happy, she wants to spend time with him, she feels happy. Yes, that's it. She feels completely happy. And that's something she's not used to.

She traces her hand across his bare chest. If they were in her flat she'd consider seducing him now (it wouldn't take much), the thought of being astride him does something to her insides and she stops touching him and rolls out of bed. She's too old for such feelings, she thinks with a wry shake of her head, no she isn't, no she certainly isn't.

Charles wakes to an empty bed and the sound of Elsie in the shower. He waits until he hears the water go off before he gets up. He's desperate to pee and hopes she won't mind him sneaking in.

"Good morning," she smiles at him in the mirror, brushing out her damp hair.

He kisses her cheek, moving past her. "Sorry, bladder issues."

"Oh, goodness, are we at that stage in our relationship now?" but there's something sort of nice about the whole easiness of it. They did live together for a week in that villa, shared their space.

She's humming as she applies face cream and make-up.

"I know that tune," he says rinsing his hands.

"Take the ribbon from my hair," she sings lowly, emphasising the last deep note and she glances sideways to him. "Shake it loose and let it fall."

"Elvis sings that." He says before rinsing his face.

"I didn't know that. I liked Gladys' version."

"You're an old soul fan." He brushes a damp hand through his hair. "I keep forgetting that. You can sing you know, you've got a good voice."

"Don't tell my students, they want us to do some sort of medley at the Prom, so far I've escaped."

"You should do it, it'll be fun."

"Embarrassing, that's what it'll be."

"They'd remember it forever."

"I'm not getting up on my own, and I'm not sure any of the staff will agree to it. Music department maybe, and Drama – of course! Have you put it in your diary?"

"When is it again?" He's digging in his wash bag for his toothbrush.

"A week on Wednesday."

"Right…" he nods. "I'll have to check."

She stops short, watching him, annoyance just hovering on the edges of her good mood. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

"No, I just didn't clock the date, I've a feeling we've got one of our talks that night."

"Talks?"

"We have talks, at the cricket club, guest speaker comes in and –,"

"Cancel it." She snaps.

"What?"

"Cancel it. Bloody hell Charles it's the first work related thing I've invited anyone to and now you might not be there because of some damned talk."

"Hey, wait a minute –,"

"No," she's waving her mascara at him, which he can't help but find kind of amusing. "Don't 'hey' me, I've told people you're coming. I was looking forward to it."

"I'm looking forward to it, that's why I'll be there, if you'd give me a second to talk. It's early in the morning and I have a bit of a hangover Els, let's not start it with an argument."

She pouts, turning her attention back to the mirror and her make-up. "Well, I've done what you asked me to…" She knows she should have left it; she wonders when she'll learn to bite her tongue.

"I'm sorry it was such a bloody task." He drops his toothbrush in the sink.

"I didn't say that," she sighs, shaking her head. "I just meant it would be nice if I felt you were returning the favour."

"Favour…?"

"Oh damn it," she's smudged her mascara, she throws it aside and reaches for a cloth. "I didn't mean that neither."

"This isn't going well." He stands still beside her, resting his hands on the counter.

She does the same. "No. If you don't want to come you don't have to, I know it's not everybody's cup of tea, spending their night with excitable teenagers."

"I want to come. But you… you feel uncomfortable with all this?"

"No. Just," she shrugs. "Perhaps a little like I'm trying to pass a test, or earn your forgiveness."

She has a point. Maybe he did feel she owed him something, she did break his heart – even if it was only momentarily, and he has pushed for her to join in with these things, with his life. Some of it might not be to her taste, and that worries him, those old insecurities creeping back in – that he's older, that his interests are dull, that he's considered nothing but a stuffy librarian. Sometimes he thinks he's been alone too long to change, to share, then she'll look at him a certain way and he wants her always there.

"You're not earning my forgiveness," he says, covering her hand with his. "And I'll be at the Prom. We must keep talking Elsie," his eyes are soft and kind. "I want to make sure neither of us conceal our feelings again."

She allows a small smile, a nip of her teeth against her lip. "What are we arguing about?"

He shakes his head, "Who said we were arguing?" He places a kiss to her head and squeezes her shoulder. "Going to shower."

"Alright."

When he comes out of the bathroom she's dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed waiting, reading the news on her phone.

"Will you forgive me this?" He says patting his stomach.

She glances over the top of her glasses at him, "Charles. You look fine. Don't steal my cake if you're worried."

"I've never been a Brad Pitt kind."

"I don't think anyone but Brad Pitt is a 'Brad Pitt kind'. A flat stomach doesn't mean my feelings change." And she returns to reading the news.

"Why didn't you go down, get a cup of tea?"

"Because I'd feel awkward, I hardly know them."

"Nobody would mind."

"Maybe not, but imagine if we'd spent the night at Beryl's."

"Fair point." He really must take the time to consider how she might feel in these situations.

At first he thought her the most confident, vivacious woman he'd ever met, sweeping into his shop every so often and chatting with him as she looked around. Hardly any of his customers chatted to him, certainly not about anything more exploratory than the state of the weather.

She asked him about himself. She was interested.

It took him time to realise this wasn't all there was to it. That beneath it she was actually quite a sad person. Quite lonely. As he was.

* * *

**Three years earlier**

He remembers quite clearly when he realised that; a rainy afternoon when she'd come in to read and disappeared to the second floor, the place where she'd convinced him to put a small table and chairs by the window to make the most of the view over the town.

It was 5:39. He closes the shop at 5:30 and she's still sitting up there. After a long internal debate he decides to lock the door and switch to the 'closed' sign. He boils the kettle, makes a pot of tea and takes a cup up to her. He's silent as he climbs the stairs, not wanting to disturb whatever it is she's reading.

Her back is to him, the book open but lying flat on the table, her chin resting on her hands as she stares out of the window.

For a moment he watched her, the curve of her neck, the freckles on her hands. There was a quietness about her, a softness at that moment that he wondered if she ever revealed to the world.

She was startled when she noted he was there, her head twisting around quickly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump."

"It's fine." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Oh lord, I'm sorry, look at the time. I'm holding you up." She starts to snatch her things together.

"No, don't worry. I err… I made you tea."

She smiled, "You did? How sweet."

He takes it to her, putting it down on the table next to her book.

"You're not having any?"

"It's downstairs."

"Well, bring it up. Come sit with me. Unless you're busy." She's tilted her head to one side as she observes him.

"No, course not."

He's back within a minute, struggling to fit into the small chair across from her, to which she smirks.

"You don't sit in your own chairs."

"Not really. I'd prefer to sit in my armchair upstairs."

She sometimes forgets there's a third floor and that he lives up there, it's rather intimate to think of that.

"Very nice tea," she says, her cup cradled in her hand.

"I get it from a little place in town, they order it in especially, I can write you the name down. People drink that freeze-dried rubbish with no real appreciation of what tea is."

She regards him amusedly, a funny kind of smile on her face as she watches him.

"Sorry, I'll bore you with this."

"Oh no, not at all. I like that you know so much, it pleases the teacher in me. It's also nice just to listen to someone talk for a while, get out of my own head." She stares out of the window again, distracted, and there's an air of heaviness between them. As if there's things she wants to say, things he should ask, but he's in no position to. They don't have that kind of relationship. For many years it's been customer and owner. Much to his dismay.

"Are you looking forward to the summer?" he asks, safe territory.

"I suppose so, my daughter will be home for a while."

"That's nice, are you going away?"

"Spain, with my husband, he likes it there. He books a villa and we go…" she shrugs, "a couple of weeks in the sun is always nice."

Mention of her husband makes him feel awkward, and he doesn't want to explore why.

"Will your daughter join you?"

"I hope so, sometimes she does. It's hot and she's very pale so she's not a great fan of Spain in the summer."

"Are you?" he catches her sharp glance. "Sorry, I don't know why I asked that."

"Its fine, I don't mind it – I rather like travelling around, visiting other places, exploring…"

"The history of a place." He says with a smile and she nods back, temporarily gladdened by his understanding.

"But Joe, well he likes it there. Likes to go back there in the summer."

"You've been married a long time?"

"A very long time, I was 23 when we got married. I'm 47 now. And we've been together since I was 19."

"Wow, that's nice. I mean it must be nice, having that connection after so long together. I have friends who are the same, devoted to each other."

He thinks he sees something in her face then, but she nods, "Yes. I suppose it is."

She suddenly breathes deeply, looking away from him, leaning back in her chair. Her expression makes him think she's going to cry and he panics, not sure what he'll do if she does. He's not very good with that type of thing.

He's saved by her phone ringing.

She digs around in her bag for it before locating it in her coat pocket.

"Hi," she says. "I'm still in town. Yes, I know…" she looks up the clock over his head and he glances at his watch, almost a quarter to seven, he didn't realise they'd sat for so long.

"I'll be back soon." She sighs heavily, her back to him, trying to hide herself as she talks. "Yes. Bye."

He gets up, collecting their cups.

"Sorry about that," she says, putting her phone away. "Thank you for the tea and the chat. I didn't realise I'd kept you talking so long."

"Nonsense. I enjoyed it."

"Yes. I did too."

They go downstairs and he lets her out. Wondering for the first time what people would think if they saw a customer sneaking out at that time of day.

"Night Mrs Burns."

"Goodnight Mr Carson. See you again soon."

"I do hope so."

* * *

**Present Day**

He leads the way downstairs with Elsie following, this morning the house is bright and airy and she realises how many windows there are, how big it is.

At the bottom of the stairs he reaches back and takes her hand, squeezing her fingers with his momentarily, then letting go again as they head into the kitchen.

It's almost clear, there are staff cleaning and Elsie smiles at them, saying good morning, wondering how much they're paid for working on a Sunday.

"Well, hello you two," Richard says, he's the only 'non-staffer' Elsie can see. "You're the first up."

It's way after nine – how wonderful it must be to live this life, she reflects.

"You know how I am with mornings," Charles says. "Anything we can do to help?"

"No need, they've got it under control. Another hour and there'll be no sign of it but sore heads – Izzy went back to bed, poor thing, too many cocktails I think, she never could hold her drink."

Elsie wanders the kitchen, noting family pictures, a large brood – she vaguely remembers Charles saying they had three sons and one daughter. There are two dogs in one of the shots and she wonders where they are now.

"This is a lovely picture," she says pointing it out, "was this in the garden here?"

"Yes, took it last summer I think." Richard says.

"He's quite the photographer," Charles adds, "sold some too, though he'd never readily share that information with you."

"I've got a nice one of you two actually, from the cricket. It's on the thing… the tablet, I used it last night to take some of the fireworks." He locates it on top of a cupboard and flips it open scanning through shots until he finds it. "There, see, I meant to email it to you."

"Lovely picture," Charles says taking it from him. And they do look lovely, in the sunshine in the grounds, Charles' arm around her, a look of absolute pride settled on his face. "You must send it."

"Will do," Richard is filling the coffee pot.

"Will you email it me too?" She asks, and Richard nods. Charles is smiling at her as if surprised.

"I'm not completely cold-hearted," she whispers leaning closer to him.

"Not at all."

"There's breakfast outside I think, or the start of it. Go sit down, I'll bring some coffee."

Elsie's glad of her sunglasses in the early morning glare and sits back in her chair, letting the rays warm her skin.

"What would you like to do for the day?" He asks watching her, he wants to be alone with her, back in bed with her. Doing the things he keeps telling his body not to think about for a while. "Unless you're bored of me, we've been together since Friday afternoon."

She reaches for her juice. "Are you trying to say you're bored of me?"

"I could never bore of you." He reaches to stroke a finger along her bare arm, the morning sunlight catching on the bracelet she wears. "You know what I enjoy most now…"

She bites her lip, suppressing a smile, "Go on."

"That I can do this. In the shop I often noticed your hands," he takes one in his, "the colour of your skin, the specks of freckles, I wanted to stroke your skin with my thumb and see how it felt." He does just that.

"And?"

"Like soft, warm silk."

She chuckles, "My hands are looking old."

"No. Never." And he kisses the back of it.

She leans on the table, closer to him. "I thought you were only interested in selling me books and all the time you were just lusting after my hands!"

He laughs, "I lusted after other things too."

"Oh, really?!" Now she's interested. "Such as?"

"This…" he reaches forward and traces a finger down her neck, along her décolletage. "You have freckles here too, and the softest skin imaginable."

"Are you trying to seduce me Mr Carson?"

"Am I succeeding?"

She smiles mischievously, "Perhaps…"

She leans back in her chair again, away from his touch. "It just goes to show you can't trust anyone. Thinking how nice you were, what a kind and helpful shop owner, and all the time you're staring at my breasts – like any other man."

"I'm only human."

She laughs, "Poor excuse."

"So, today?" He asks reaching for the teapot.

"I'll have to work for a while, prepare lessons." She opens her eyes, leans forward and accepts her cup of tea. "Listen why don't I go home, you stay here, and I'll work for a few hours then you could come over and we have something to eat and watch a movie. I got An Officer and a Gentleman for you. Don't pull that face."

"I looked it up, it's a film for women."

"I resent that statement. It's as much of a man's film- young man learning life the hard way, battling authority. Fighting his superiors." She touches his hand. "And we can snuggle on the sofa."

"What time do you want me?"

She leaves before anyone else gets up, kissing him in the front garden whilst they wait for her taxi to arrive.

"Do you think anyone's watching?" He asks, his breath hot against her ear.

"Do you care?"

"Not much as it happens." His arms are looped around her, his hands folded at the base of her spine. "So, you did have a good time didn't you?"

"I did, I felt like I was in some 1920s movie at times, but I had a good time."

"I know what you mean, it's best just to go with it while it lasts, I've learnt that." She presses her body against his and he groans, "I might go for a bike ride, relieve some frustrations…"

"Don't relieve too many."

"I'm getting bored of this…" he says, his forehead against hers, swaying her body in his arms.

"Of what?"

"Of just having you at weekends, I want to see you all the time."

"We'd argue more, over little things, we'd become like every other couple."

"I'd like that too. Arguing with you is part of the charm… and making up."

"Hmm, you sure know how to perk a woman up." She kisses him again as her taxi pulls up. "I'll see you at five and make us something to eat. Cricketer and a Gentleman…"

"Five." He says, rolling his eyes.

He puts her bags in the car and waves her off, returning to the back garden where others have started to appear for breakfast. It's almost eleven now and he mentally counts the hours until he'll see her again.

"You look forlorn," Laura says sitting across from him. "Where's your lady friend?"

"Had to do some work, we're meeting later."

"She's nice," Laura graciously admits, cutting into a grapefruit; Charles can't stand the things, even the smell makes him want to wretch. "Lucky at craps too."

"She did win big on that," he chuckles, remembering the joy on her face when she'd spun in his arms after winning.

"It's nice to see you happy too Charles," Laura admits, then waves her spoon at him. "We've worried about you over the years."

"Oh?!" He proclaims, intrigued.

"What's that?" Isobel sits beside him. "Warn me if George comes over, I've dodged his hands twice this morning already."

"I honestly don't know why you invite him." Laura says chewing.

"Because he's old and lonely and I feel sorry for him," Isobel accepts the cup of tea Charles has poured for her. "My head…" she complains.

"That's what we were just talking about." Laura chirps.

"Oh thanks, so your subtext was I'm old and boring."

"No, but in danger of getting that way."

"Are we talking about how Elsie's changed you?" Isobel asks.

"She's not changed me!" He exclaims good-naturedly.

"She bloody well has!" Laura laughs.

"She has Charles dear, you may not want to admit it."

"I'll admit…" he fiddles with his napkin. "I'll admit I'm happier." He pauses, reflects. "Happier than I've ever been."

Isobel taps the back of his hand, "You're in love darling, we can all see that. Don't let George get his hands on her bottom."

He chuckles, "I shall try not to." He scrapes his chair back, "Now, I'm going to find Richard to talk about man things, enough with this silliness."

Isobel looks up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Are you going for a ride?"

"I'm going to ask him to join me."

"Good, he needs the exercise, I worry about him sitting in that surgery all week. He needs fresh air."

Always Isobel, he thinks as he heads inside, always fussing, always full of good intentions. He hopes she and Elsie will become friends in time, he'd love for the four of them to spend time together. His oldest friends and the person who means the most to him.

* * *

**Mid-December 2014**

Since they'd started sleeping together Charles couldn't get enough of her – she was like some drug that had invaded his system and every morning he woke craving more. He found himself daydreaming about her, the way she smelled in particular could drive his senses into overdrive.

Her flat was now his place of worship and he'd spent more time there – or in her bed, to be more specific – than his own home of late.

In the middle of the night he'd wake with her pressed against him, naked and soft and warm and he couldn't help his reaction. A deep-set longing that reminded him he was alive, there was still life in him, even at his age.

He pushed his hand against her stomach, rewarded with a low murmur, and then his mouth on the back of her neck. "Charles…" she groans, and he loves the sound of his name coming from her mouth in such a way.

Feeling brave he leans in, whispering by her ear, "Elsie… I want you…" he nips her earlobe, hearing her smile he feels giddy and excitable. "You make me feel so good, so alive."

She presses her bottom against his groin, her hand over his, rubbing his fingers.

He's still whispering by her ear, hot and seductive… and then she yelps in surprise, twisting over in the bed to look at him.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh shit."

"Did you just say…" she's giggling, trying not to, covering her mouth, "Did you just say you want my… Charles?"

"I should never, ever, take Thomas' advice."

She's laughing heartily now, "I never imagined you'd talk like that."

"I don't." He's covering his face. "I'm mortified."

She switches on the lamp, illuminating his despair. "You just said that!"

"Don't repeat it, I would never choose that word. And turn the light off."

"But you did." She's still laughing.

"Thomas said you'd like it, that women like it when spoken to like that, I thought I'd give it a go."

"Wait a minute – isn't Thomas gay?"

"Very much so."

"So how would he know what women like?"

He shrugs, "I figured he'd still know more than me."

At that she bursts into hysterics again, shaking as she laughs. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She places her hand on his chest. "I'll stop."

"So, you're not offended?"

"Not offended no, amused, definitely."

"You still want to go to Edinburgh with me for New Year?"

She smiles, rests her hand on his face. "Oh, Charles. You're so endearingly clueless at times. Yes, I do. But, a little tip, I don't think it's for you, that kind of talk."

"Got it."

She switches the lamp back off before rolling on top of him. "Now where were we, because I want really want your… …"

"Elsie!"

* * *

**Present Day**

Beryl comes over early afternoon and Elsie abandons lesson plans and they make treacle tart and stand gossiping in the kitchen.

"Come on then, spill the beans, what are the posh folk like in the big house?"

"I feel like I'm in an episode of some period drama, we'd be the commoners."

"I certainly would, you could try and swing for middle class."

"Oooh I don't know luv, I'm not much up to middling." She said, imitating a Yorkshire accent.

"Tha dun't know tha born lass." Beryl says in return, waving a wooden spoon at her. "Us folks down ere at coal face, us locals, we wanna addle some brass!"

Elsie is giggling uncontrollably, holding her stomach, "I have no idea what that means."

"To earn some money," Beryl says, now imitating an upper class accent.

"Oh, well how very backward of you," Elsie says in clipped speech, "if you don't mind my saying so."

"One does not mind at all."

They laugh together, Beryl returning to stirring the mixture as she watches Elsie line the baking tin with pastry.

"Charles still has a Yorkshire accent though, stronger in places." Beryl says.

"I'm exaggerating, they aren't all super posh."

"I'd prefer it if they were, that amuses me greatly."

"I'm sure. They were nice, they were kind to me, made me feel welcome, and I made £175!"

"Woah! I'm coming next time. If you and Charles ever get married you could have this Isobel organise the games for the party."

"Married. Goodness Beryl, I'm only just divorced."

"It's almost two years love," Beryl says gently.

"Yes. Yes of course it is."

Beryl watches her for a moment, pricking the pastry, preparing it for blind-baking.

"You've not heard from Joe, have you?"

"Not since that awful night, no. Why?"

"Just checking." She opens the oven door for Elsie to put the pastry in. "Don't want him spoiling things."

Elsie huffs, she doesn't want this conversation. "He won't spoil anything. I told him I don't want to hear from him again and that's that."

Beryl thinks it's never that straightforward with Joe.

"The only thing I'm worried about is Anna's graduation, and there's an end of course celebration she wants me to go to in July. I'd like to take Charles, but of course Joe has every right to be there."

"I don't see why he does. You raised that girl, not him. He was too busy out gallivanting and sticking his…"

"Please don't!" She snaps. Then softens, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… just don't."

Beryl puts down the spoon and hooks her arm over Elsie's shoulders, "Don't you mind. Take Charles, he'd love that."

"I know he would."

"Got him wrapped around your finger."

"Oh, I do not. Don't say that."

"He adores you, you do realise that, don't you…" Beryl says more seriously.

She nods her head. "He told me he loves me, three times now."

"And, do you love him?"

"I don't know. I wish it were that simple, I wish I could just say I did. But I want to be sure, I thought I loved Joe." She breathes deeply. "I don't want to ever hurt Charles again."

"Fair point. Take your time then – is he pushing for it?"

"No. No he's never made me feel like I have to respond."

"Well, then, just let it be." She gives her shoulder one last squeeze then returns to clearing the work surface. "So, Bill has this new workmate, young lad, probably about Anna's age, maybe a year or two younger…"

Elsie's glad the conversation has changed focus; she happily listens to Beryl prattle on and makes them tea and they sit at the table gossiping waiting for the tarts to cook in the oven, the wonderful fragrance of the sweet concoction filling her flat.

When the doorbell buzzes it surprises them both and Elsie glances at the clock, 16:55. "Goodness it's Charles, I wanted to change before he got here."

"Don't mind me, I'll get going." Beryl collects her things together.

"Will you let him in? I'll wrap this up for you, it's almost cooled."

Charles is surprised when he climbs the stairs to find Beryl standing at the open door.

"No need for that face Charlie, I'm off, we've just been having a gossip and making you a pie."

"I er… I didn't pull a face. Just surprised."

Beryl chuckles. "Yes of course you were. You want to be alone with her… I get that." She winks and Elsie comes up behind her handing her a package wrapped in paper.

"There you go, I hope Bill enjoys it." She kisses her cheek.

"I hope Charles enjoys his too." Beryl smirks. "Goodnight to you both."

Elsie is shaking her head as she waves her out and closes the door after her. Wicked woman.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm part of a conversation I know nothing about?"

"Don't worry about it." She goes to kiss him, "Hello."

And then she's in his arms, "Hello."

"Mmm, you smell good, very manly."

"I just had a shower after a very long bike ride. Used some new stuff in there."

"It's nice, I like it."

"It smells good in here, what's that gorgeous fragrance?"

"Treacle Tart, made with my own fair hands."

"And they're very fair. Are we having it now?"

"We're having dinner first. Which I have to make. Did you have lunch?"

"Just a sandwich at the pub we stopped at."

"We?"

"I went with Richard. Isobel's worried he isn't getting enough exercise."

He watches her finish dressing the chicken and put it in the oven. "Want me to help?"

"Didn't you have a bottle of wine in your hand?"

"I've put it in the fridge. Though I only just fetched it out of a fridge so it should be alright."

"Pour a glass then, and you can lay the table if you like."

He comes up behind her, watching as she prepares salad, his hands on her hips, mouth on her neck.

"Charles…"

"Missed you."

"It's been a few hours."

"Still missed you."

He's right of course, it's getting harder to be apart. Especially when they're so busy in the week – she's worried it will become a 'weekend relationship' again and she doesn't want that.

"Go, pour that wine." She says with a smile. "And then make yourself comfortable in the lounge, I can do this."

"Sure?"

"Sure. You can cook next weekend."

He kisses her cheek, pours the wine and then leaves her to it.

Elsie leaves the chicken roasting, makes salad and roasts potatoes in garlic, butter and herbs and when all seems to be going well goes to change. She wants to look nice for him and chooses a simple, blue dress, putting her hair up and adding perfume.

Charles helps her serve and refills their wine and they sit at the dining table again, the first time since she'd made him breakfast following that Friday night.

Charles lifts his glass and touches it to his, "Thank you for a lovely meal Elspeth."

She glares at him but touches his glass in return, "You're very welcome."

"So, did you get your work done?" He says, piling sour cream onto his potatoes.

"Most of it. What are your plans for the week, did you say plastering and decoration in the shop?"

"Yes. And I'm starting to think about furniture."

"Ooh, that's the exciting part."

"I know. You can help if you like, come over one evening, flick through catalogues."

"Can I let you know? Its our last week with exam classes and I have a feeling I'll be needed for revision after school?"

"Sure, that's fine." He wonders how it would work if they did see each other more often, dare he even think it – live together? His brain went there once before only to be severely let down and he's not sure he's quite ready to go there again. Not just yet.

Ever practical, they do the dishes after dinner and take their dessert into the lounge, turning off the lights, snuggling beneath the blanket on the sofa and watching the film she'd picked.

"Take your socks off." Elsie teased as she tucked her legs beneath her, "get comfy. We're here for a good couple of hours."

As the film wore on their dessert bowls were placed on the coffee table and they snuggled together, his feet on the table, her head against his chest – though he held hopes of getting another slice of the tart later on, or perhaps the offer to take some home.

The film wasn't bad, he had to admit, a bit schmaltzy in places but enough of a hard edge to keep him interested. They were at least three quarters of the way through when it got uncomfortable – a love scene – which he'd always hated watching with anybody, how can you watch other people having sex? But coupled with the fact he was cuddled up to a woman he wanted to completely ravish and his jeans suddenly started to feel a tad tight.

The woman in the film was on top of the man, it was a very still, quiet moment despite the subject matter and he closed his eyes, trying his best not to picture Elsie in that same position with him.

"Charles…" she mumbled against his chest.

"Hmm?"

"Let's pause it for a moment, shall we?"

It was on pause for so long the screen switched itself off, plunging them into complete darkness. Not that either would have noticed, they were so wrapped up in each other.

She was beneath him now, he wasn't sure how they got in that position and frankly he didn't care. Desire had taken over. Her hands seemed to be all over him. The scent of her surrounding him, and her wonderful mouth against his.

"I want you so much," Charles panted, his hand snaking up under her skirt, to the top of her stockings – she's wearing stockings, his mind tries to absorb and process the information but he's so far gone he thinks he might come in his trousers.

"I want you too." She squeezes his bottom, pushing his pelvis against hers, the pair of them groan in unison at the sensation of his erection pressing against her pubic bone.

"Elsie," he mumbles by her ear, licking the shell of it, suckling on the lobe, "I want to make love to you."

"Yes. I want you to." She's kissing his neck, pushing back his shirt, his bare chest available to her. "I want you inside me." She whispers huskily.

"Oh shit what you do to me." He's managed to push her skirt up past the top of her stockings, exposing her bare thighs, he can feel the heat coming from between her legs and it's turning him on more than he could ever have imagined.

The lights suddenly go on, blinding and startling, Elsie yelps, desperately trying to push her skirt down and Charles falls off of her, landing with a wallop between the sofa and coffee table.

"Mum!" Anna exclaims, her shock soon giving way to hilarity. "I do hope when I look over that couch it's Charles on the floor Mother and not some random guy."

"Bugger off! What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?"

"It's 8:15, and I came to stay a few days."

"Oh…" Flustered, Elsie brushes a hand through her hair trying to detangle it. "Well, you should have rung."

"I should have. I will in future. I'll go put the kettle on shall I?" She says sniggering as she turns the light back off and closes the door.

"Anna," Elsie complains as she scrambles up from the sofa, tripping over Charles on her way to turn a light back on.

"Are you alright?" She asks looking down at him as she rearranges her clothing.

"A bumped head. But I think my embarrassment levels have peeked. Can you sneak me out?"

"There's no way I'm going in there to face her alone," she stands with her hands on her hips looking at him. "Do up your fly."

"I'm mortified," he says, pulling his zip up. "You think she heard what we said…?"

"No, I do not!" She says with absolute authority. She holds her hand out to him, helping him up. "Are you really alright, you didn't hurt yourself?"

"No, I'm alright."

"It's quite funny really." She giggled, "When you think about it."

His face finally broke into a smile and they laughed together.

"It's probably a good idea we didn't sleep together anyhow, it was really George I was hoping to get lucky with tonight…" She quips wickedly. "You would have been a poor substitute for him and his wandering hands."

"Sure you were."

He pinched her bottom as she headed into the kitchen.

"Tea?" Anna asks as she fills the pot, and Elsie can see she's already cut herself a slice of tart. "Hi Charles." She grins.

"Hi Anna." He said sheepishly.

"So, you have fun at games night?"

"It was good yes, I made some money." Elsie's wrapping the dessert up. "You'd like it there. Huge house."

"Impressive."

"Why are you home again?"

"No exams until Thursday and I could do with the peace and quiet." She says between mouthfuls of stodgy treacle.

"I see. Nothing to do with seeing me then."

"But of course. And good food."

Elsie hands the package to Charles. "Enjoy the rest of it." She smiles.

"Thanks."

"You're not staying the night?" Anna asks amused.

"No, I think it's best I erm… well, I er leave you two to talk."

"Don't mind me…" Anna teases and Elsie glares at her as she follows Charles into the hall.

"Sorry," she whispers, her hands on his chest. "Once again we're thwarted."

"I'm starting to feel like a teenager trying to bed his first girlfriend."

She giggles. "I know. It's ridiculous."

"We didn't finish the film." He says lowly, pressing close to her.

"Next week?" She says hopefully, lifting her face to his.

He tips his mouth down to meet hers, kissing her sweetly and deeply. "Next week," he says, with a hint of absolute promise.

* * *

_Sorry, I'm mean aren't I... Hope you're still enjoying following their story. More to come soon - please let me know what you think, you know how much I adore your comments! X_


	16. Chapter 16

_A quick update because I had time to write today and I also couldn't wait to post this chapter - these two are taking over my life!_

_I think you might enjoy this one – for a variety of reasons._

**Chapter 16**

**Tuesday morning**

She'd just finished brushing her teeth when her phone rang, it was still on the bedside table and she rushed through from the en-suite expecting a colleague to be informing her of illness, keenly aware of Anna still sleeping in the next room.

Instead it's Charles' face on the screen.

"What are you doing up at this time?"

"Couldn't sleep, what are you doing?"

"I'm just about to leave," she glances at the clock, 06:40. "You should still be asleep." She says softly.

"Don't go to work. Come spend the day in bed with me…"

He has a teasing to his voice she's not used to and she giggles at the suggestion, "We wouldn't do anything even if I did spend the day in bed with you. Remember…" She recalls Saturday night at Isobel's and how close they were to breaking their resolve. Then Sunday and their thwarted efforts to get their sex-life going again.

He huffs, "We can talk, and watch television. Do the crossword."

She's shoving things into her bag and finding her car keys, her phone in one hand slowing her movements. "Nice thought. Maybe Sunday…" She grabs her salad from the fridge. "I have to go."

"Don't hang up, let me talk to you as you drive."

Silly man, she thinks, but her smile comes unbidden. "Alright. Hang on whilst I lock up."

She sets the alarm and is in her car within minutes, linking the phone to the speaker. "Okay, I'm back."

"Missed you."

"You're soppy this morning," she laughs as she turns the wheel and pulls out of the car park. "But it's rather nice to start my day this way."

He thinks he'd like to start every day with her.

"Did you enjoy your talk last night?" She asks.

"It was fine, slow in places but fine. Not the best. Certainly not the worst. You should give one for us."

"I thought it was a boy's club thing."

"You could do it – I'd get you a special pass, as I know you"

"Lucky me."

"Maybe in the summer, when you're free."

"I could I guess, if you really want me to. I'd feel a little odd having you staring at me as I talk about 16th century politics knowing you've seen me naked."

He starts to count how many days it's been since he's seen her naked.

"Maybe as an anniversary treat." He says lowly.

"Anniversary?"

"The anniversary of our first date."

She laughs, "And that's what you want? I can't wait to find out what you want for your Birthday."

He laughs too, flopping against the pillows in his bed, "What did you do for your fiftieth – I never asked that… I can't believe I didn't ask you that."

"I suppose because you weren't aware I'd turned fifty and it would be slightly awkward to suddenly ask a customer such a thing." She pulls into the car park. "I have to go and get my morning coffee. Do you want to wait or say goodbye?"

"I'll wait."

She's gone for a few minutes and he spends the time flicking through the furniture catalogue – he needs bookshelves but he has no idea on dimensions or whether he should go for an interesting colour. He'll ask her.

"I'm back," she says, slamming her car door.

"So, what did you do?"

"What did I do when? I fetched coffee."

"No, for your fiftieth. A party?"

"Lord no."

"What then?"

"Nothing. I was at work. We had cake and tea leaves instead of tea bags."

"And at the weekend?"

"Anna and I went for lunch and shopped."

"You can't just do that for your 50th – it's a special birthday."

"I didn't want to be reminded of it, it was no big deal." She stares at the road ahead and he realises why it was no big deal – she was in the middle of a divorce.

"I'm taking you out," he finally said.

"I should hope so, the thought of going out on Saturday is the only thing keeping me going. I want to go and see the new version of Far From the Madding Crowd if you fancy the cinema."

"No. I'm taking you out somewhere special, somewhere expensive, and we'll dress up to the nines and celebrate your 50th."

"It was a year and a half ago."

"So. Are you turning down a fine meal?"

"You know I wouldn't do that, but I don't want you to waste your money on a birthday that's long passed."

"Ahh, no more excuses, I'm booking it, we're going. You just worry about what kind of shoes you're going to wear."

"Sweet talker." She finds she's sitting up straighter, smiling, energised despite the early hour. "So, where shall we go?"

"I'm thinking Van Zeller."

"Oh yes! It's wonderful there."

"I'll call as soon as they're open and try and get a reservation."

"I'm excited now, I feel very spoilt."

"Good. You deserve to."

She indicates to turn into the school car park; a little annoyed the journey has come to an end.

"I'm here," she says reluctantly. "That was nice, you're better company than the radio."

"Do you ever look at the clock and think bloody hell it's 07:10 and I'm at work?"

She chuckles, "Sometimes. But I'm used to it now. And I like how quiet it is this time in the morning."

"Come see me after work…?" He suggests.

"Anna and I are having a bad night before she goes back to Warwick tomorrow – pizza and rubbish television, it may or may not involve a Storage Wars or Real Housewives binge."

"Lord, I have no idea what either is."

"Come join us."

"I don't want to intrude..."

"Don't be silly, we'd love to have you there. It's Tuesday so we can get 2 for 1 on a Dominos."

"I often feel you're speaking another language."

She chuckles, "There'll be Maltesers too, no excuses, come over for half six."

* * *

"It's looking great," Thomas says as he wanders around the shop.

"Coming from you that's quite something."

Charles stands by the entrance looking around and yes, Thomas is right, it is looking good. Even at this stage, with no shelving or seating area, no desk – he's keeping his desk, he's polished the wood and thinks it will look grand in the corner.

"Has she seen it yet?"

"Elsie?"

"She is the one you've done it all for."

"I've done it for myself too," he insists with a huff. "And no not yet, when she came last weekend the builders were still here. I have a decent working shower at long last." He smiles, thinking about how pleased she'll be when she finally stays over.

"Just the smell of paint to get rid of now." Thomas points out.

"Oh, and the small matter of having the shelves fitted and arranging hundreds of books."

"Yes, and that." Thomas sucks on his cigarette.

"Don't smoke in here, it's bad for the books and it's bad for me. You should quit."

"Everything I do is bad, you should know that by now. So, when can I meet her, properly I mean?"

"We could have dinner one night I guess. She's pretty busy at the moment with work but maybe next week, I'll check."

"Thursday nights are best for me, as you well know." Thomas stubs his cigarette out on his saucer and Charles rolls his eyes. "You want to do something then, theatre, pub, something?"

"How come you're at a loose end?"

"No reason." He sits on an upturned crate, "I may have just ended a little something."

"Ended a little something as in…"

"As in I've been dumped, alright, first time since I was about fourteen. Dumped. Me!"

Charles smiles, he can't help but feel sorry for the guy. "Liked him too."

"Was this Jimmy? The guy you mentioned?"

Thomas nodded, "Sexy little bastard too. Gorgeous ass."

"I don't think I need to know anymore. Wasn't he about twenty-two?"

"Hey, I'm not old."

Charles reckons he must be at least forty.

"And he had the tightest…"

"Maybe we should go get a quick drink. I can't stay long; I'm joining Elsie and her daughter tonight. Maybe you can explain 'Real Housewives' to me."

"Totally love that show, they're all divas and bitches – love it!"

Charles wasn't entirely sure it would be his cup of tea.

* * *

Charles took both red and white wine and was greeted by Anna in sweatpants, a t-shirt and socks.

"Okay, I've chosen 'Mean Girls', that okay with you?" She asked as she opened the door and he stared at her dumbfounded.

"Are you already drunk?" He asked confused.

She giggled, "No, it's a movie. Hi, Charles."

"Er, hello, whatever movie is fine." He guessed he wouldn't be snuggling with Els during this one.

"Great." She disappeared back down the hall, sliding on the wooden floor in her socks, and into the lounge and he shut the door behind him and headed into the kitchen.

"Hi," Elsie greeted him, looking up from the blender.

"Hello," he leant over and kissed her. "Is Anna high? Did she take kid pills?"

"I think she's a bit de-mob happy, a mixture of nerves and excitement – last exam on Thursday – and maybe enjoying the last time in her life when she's still my little girl at school."

"I bought wine but… I see you're making something."

"Margaritas." She smiled mischievously. "Did you put your bag in my room?"

"What? I didn't realise I was staying."

"You can't get drunk on margaritas and drive home!"

"I didn't realise I'd be getting drunk on a Tuesday night."

"Well, maybe tipsy, one of us needs to be up for work tomorrow. Do you have a particular fancy for pizza toppings?"

"Erm, I can't say I eat it very often."

"I thought as much." She pours the margarita into glasses. "I'll order for you?"

"Please. So, I'm staying?"

"You don't have to. If you don't want to."

She's already sidling up to him, her hands moving over his chest.

"But with Anna here?"

She laughs, he suspects she's already had a margarita, "I said stay over, not make me forget my name."

"I have that power?" His arms are around her, swaying with her. "Do I have that power, I'd like to."

"I'm not going to answer that. So, are you sleeping over, sans pyjamas?"

"I guess I could drive home in the morning."

"Good." She kissed him again, "Let's order some food and have some fun."

* * *

They managed half of the movie before Anna set up the Monopoly board on the coffee table and they piled up cushions and sat on the floor to play.

"Come on Charles," Elsie complained, as they waited yet again for him to read through the rules. "It doesn't matter, we just play it this way."

"There are rules for a reason."

Anna and Elsie exchanged a pompous look.

"I saw that."

"It doesn't matter Charles, we won't fleece you." Anna said, popping two Maltesers at once into her mouth and sucking off the chocolate.

She threw another Malteser at Elsie, who caught it and popped it into her mouth. Feeling naughty Elsie took one from the tub and threw it at Charles – it hit him right in the forehead.

For a second nobody moved, then Anna smirked and she and Elsie dissolved into giggles, Anna flopping back on the floor as she laughed.

"We're out of Margarita," Elsie said.

"I think we need coffee, not alcohol." Charles folded up the rulebook. "You two are incorrigible." He picked up the Malteser and crunched it between his teeth.

"Can we play again now?" Anna asked from her position on the floor.

"Yes. And you can't do that thing with the bank."

She sat back up, "That's mean."

"Them's the rules kiddo, your turn."

Elsie leant back against the sofa and watched them squabble over the rules of what you could and could not do with money in the bank. _This is what a family looks like_, she thought, a mixture of happiness and uncertainty taking hold. There were few times they had evenings like this with Joe, mostly it was evenings with just Anna and herself, especially as she got older.

Not that he was a bad father, Anna adored him, especially aged six – Daddy could do no wrong as he spun her round and told her stories and called her Princess. He wasn't like Elsie's father, thank goodness, he showed affection, he praised and supported. His need to control was never over Anna…

"So, has mum asked you about attending this thing in June?"

"I thought it was July." Elsie said, tuning back in.

"June, June 19th. Can you make it Charles?"

"What is this?" He glanced at Elsie; worried he'd missed or forgotten something.

"I haven't asked him yet. I thought you might like to do it yourself."

"I will," she moved her monopoly piece a few spaces, handing the dice to Charles. "There's a thing at Uni, to celebrate the end of exams – before we all go home. A big dinner, speeches, that sort of thing. We'll get dressed up and basically have a party. Parents are invited. I thought you might like to come with Mum."

He opened his mouth to speak but found that just for a second his throat had closed up, he was glad Elsie was throwing the dice to cover his silence.

"I'd like that." He finally said.

Elsie moved her piece.

"Ha!" she said. "And that's Park Lane for me, if you will Miss Estate Agent." She counted out her cash and handed it across to Anna who reluctantly gave her the card for Park Lane before getting to her feet.

"I'm going to get a coke, anyone want anything?"

"Make some tea sweetheart."

"That's really sweet of her," Charles said as Anna left them alone.

"She wanted to do it, nothing to do with me." Elsie assured him, reaching across to touch his knee.

He had never really had a family before, not this kind, and it was overwhelming to find he had one now. A ready-made one.

"You okay?" She asked, shuffling across the carpet to get closer to him.

"Yeah, just," he breathed deeply. "It's really nice of her."

"I guess she must think you're a long term fixture." She kissed his mouth, "As do I."

* * *

Elsie was asleep on the couch by quarter past eleven, and Anna covered her with a blanket as they continued their game.

"You know, you didn't have to invite me." He said, reaching for the dice. "I'm guessing you don't get many tickets."

"I begged for a third."

Realisation hit him – her father.

"I'm not sure Dad will come, he might, but then again… Don't tell Mum but I spoke to him last week. He's split up with Sarah, his new wife; they've been living apart for a few weeks. I don't want Mum to know. I told _him_ I don't want Mum to know."

"You think it will bother her?" He asked painfully, keenly aware of what it meant, that he was available, that he might want Elsie back… more to the point she might want him.

"Mum is happier than I've ever known her." Anna said honestly, the game forgotten. "And I mean 'ever', like in my entire life. I don't want him messing it up for her. He's my Dad, I love him, but he's bad for her. You're good for her."

He swallowed, "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. So, let's hope he doesn't attend and if he does I've already fixed it that he goes on a table at the opposite side of a very big ballroom. And I'll warn him to stay away from her."

Anna shifts her attention to Elsie sleeping on the couch, blissfully unaware.

"Think we should put her to bed?"

"I guess so."

Anna prepares the bed as he lifts her up off the couch and carries her through to the bedroom, lying her in bed and letting Anna undress her as he goes back to tidy up.

He's washing the dishes when Anna returns; "I've set her alarm for the morning."

"Okay, good. I'll just finish these and go to bed."

"I'm going to watch television for a while." She says getting a glass of water. "Probably see you in the morning, unless you leave before I get up."

"You're going back tomorrow?"

"Yes. My train's just after eleven."

"I could drive you to the station, if that helps."

"It does, thanks a lot."

"You're welcome. Night Anna."

He uses Elsie's en-suite, lays his clothes out on the chair in her bedroom and slips into bed beside her. She turns almost instantly, her arms around him, her head on his chest and he cuddles her close.

_I don't want this to end, _he thinks.

"I love you," he whispers, kissing her hair. "Very, very much."

* * *

**Saturday**

As it happened he had to go to Sheffield that Saturday for a book fair, he went every year and didn't want to lose the good relationship he'd fostered over time. He booked the table for seven that night so wasn't too worried and he took the train to save time and to avoid worrying about getting stuck in traffic.

She spent most of the day pottering about the flat, tidying and cleaning – it was nice to be at the time of year when her exam classes had just about left and she could focus a little more on her own life and not marking papers.

Early afternoon she went into town and bought an entire new outfit especially for their date. It seemed an age since she'd bought herself anything new and she figured if she was re-celebrating her fiftieth birthday she may as well do it right.

She took a long bath, covered her entire body in expensive cream and put on the new black lace and silk underwear she'd purchased. She didn't _expect_ they'd spend the night together, she was just _hoping_ they would. It had been weeks now since they'd made the 'contract' and longer since they'd slept together (Dubai seemed so long ago) and she really felt that they'd reached that stage now where they could combine the emotional and physical sides of their relationship.

As she rolled stockings up her legs she hoped they were anyhow, otherwise this had all been a waste.

She took her time with her make-up, in doing her hair – leaving it down because she knew how he liked it that way – in selecting perfume and jewellery and finally stood in front of her bedroom mirror feeling quite confident that she looked passable. Maybe even good. Maybe even very good.

They'd arranged to meet there due to his trip and there was a taxi outside at 18:45 and she got to the restaurant bang on 19:00.

Unusually, she was there first but she was shown to their table and took the seat by the window.

Twenty minutes later she was still sitting there on her own. She knew the staff were starting to look at her in an odd way and she wondered if she'd got the wrong time. Maybe it was 19:30 and she'd been amazingly early.

She ordered wine to give her something to do and continuously refreshed her phone to check for messages.

19:35 and still no Charles. Now she was getting worried. He wouldn't stand her up, never. Certainly not when he'd gone to such trouble of arranging this and persuading her to go. So something must be wrong.

She rang his phone again and it still went to voicemail.

She'd have to leave, embarrassingly apologise to the staff, pay for her wine and leave and go straight to his shop (it was within walking distance) and find out what had happened.

19:43 and the restaurant door opens and in he walks. Dishevelled and red-faced from running and apologetic and she feels like crying because he's there and he's okay. But she stays in her seat, twists her mouth into a half-amused pout and taps her nails against her wine glass as he approaches her.

"I'm so, SO sorry." He says, hands open. "The train got delayed, some issue with the track, we were stuck in the middle of nowhere and I had no signal to call or text. I've been panicking for the past two hours." He placed his hands on the back of his chair and paused. "You look stunning."

Her face broke into a smile, "I should bloody well hope so."

She stood up and he came to kiss her cheek and hug her, "Darling, I'm so sorry."

"You're forgiven. Now sit down so we can eat, I'm starving and we have a tasting menu to get through."

Two hours later and they were both stuffed but happy. He was making her laugh recounting tales from the complainers on the train and the mediocre tea he'd had.

He leant back in his chair, his legs crossed and a glass of brandy dangling from his fingers, utterly relaxed. "So, I find myself giving up my seat to go in search of tea, knowing full well it probably won't be there when I return because some cretin won't have read the pre-booked sign."

She giggles at that alone; leaning forward to watch and listen to him, her elbows on the table, chin resting on them.

"And there's this older guy in front of me, and I mean much older, probably 99 or something. And we get to the front of the queue and he asks for, 'Two cheese and onion toasties please, no tomato on one.' And I'm mulling this over – why would you possibly have tomato on a cheese and onion toastie? As he then continues, 'And two cheese and tomato toasties, no tomato on one.' And my face must have been a picture…"

She's laughing so much she can't catch her breath.

He sniggers, trying to catch his breath to continue, "…must have been… because the young lad serving looks up at me and just starts to laugh, and I mean hysterically laugh, and the old man, bless him, he had no idea what was so funny."

"I'm using that in the staffroom on Monday," she says wiping her eyes.

He downs the rest of his brandy and leans forward in his chair, his hands on the table. "Would you like anything else Ms Hughes?"

"No. I feel suitably spoilt, thank you."

"You're very welcome. A better 50th celebration?" His eyes are twinkling with affection for her.

"A much better 50th celebration." She says softly, holding his gaze.

"So, I may have got you a gift too."

"Oh Charles, you needn't have. I hope it's something small."

"Something very small. Almost flat."

She narrows her eyes as she watches him open his jacket and take an envelope from his pocket. "There."

"A card," she opens it, he's made it himself on one of those websites and there's a picture of her laughing on the front and '50 and fabulously flirty' above it. She rolls her eyes at him, "I do not flirt. And where did you get that picture?"

"It's from our trip. You may have had a glass of wine or two."

"I have a double chin."

"You do not! Open the rest."

Inside is another envelope, which she leaves on the table, and the familiar curved flourish of Charles' handwriting is on the card, "_Wish I'd been there to celebrate it properly. All my love, C, xx._ Oh thank you honey, and what can this be?" She says picking up the other envelope.

He shrugs, "What do you think?"

"Book tokens?" she teases then says excitedly, "Spa vouchers?"

Instead, inside are plane tickets. Lake Garda, last week in July.

"Charles…" she breathes looking up at him.

"I've checked the dates, I rang your school reception to check your last day – can you believe that! And so I've booked it for the day after. We fly midday so should be there 24 hours after you break up for summer."

"Oh, my goodness." Her throat feels tight and she's aware her eyes are filling with tears. "Nobody's ever bought me such a thoughtful, generous gift."

"You're only 50 once. Besides, it's kind of a present for me too, one of my favourite places on earth. I did tell you my parents had a small place over there, a lodge?"

"Erm, I don't know," she shakes her head. "I can't remember you saying."

"I don't go very often, it's usually rented out, handled by a company there. I considered selling at one point but it makes good money for such a small let. I booked it months ago for us, before we even went to Dubai, before Christmas. I figured if you'd broken it off with me by then I'd go alone and mope."

She smiled warmly, her eyes clouded with tears. She reaches across for his hands, folding them both in hers, "Thank you so very much."

"You're welcome."

For a few moments they're quiet, wishing for the first time that evening they weren't in a posh restaurant.

"I'll pay the bill," he finally says, "we can have a walk for a while if you like, the evening's fine…" He suggests.

"Mmm, we could." She tiptoes her fingers across the palm of his hand, sliding her index finger delicately across his knuckles, "Come home with me." She says lowly, looking up at him bashfully through her eyelashes.

He leans closer, breathes deeply, "Why don't we have that walk in the general direction of my flat?"

"Why don't we..."

* * *

He expects that now, with the promise of making love after so many weeks without, they'd rush home. But their walk is leisurely and romantic; warm spring air, her hand in his, her head against his arm, the sight of her in that wonderful skirt.

At his shop he leads her down the alleyway to the backdoor and they take the stairs up to his flat, inside he thinks of asking if she wants coffee but she's taking her jacket off in the hallway and hanging it on his hat stand and he wants to cover her in kisses, worship her for endless hours. Damn coffee.

He comes up behind her and buries his face in her hair, his hands sliding down her arms and she leans back against him, silent, eyes closed. For a moment they stand like that, simply enjoying the sensation of warm, soft bodies and the fragrance of each other, of being alone at last.

Then she tilts her head slightly to the left, lifts it and nudges his chin with her nose and he moves his face down to meet her mouth in a soft, delicious kiss. Her hand comes up to his cheek, her fingertips tracing over his skin and he can feel her moving, her bottom swaying against his groin and the thrill of knowing what lies ahead is enchanting. No need to rush, they have all night for this, then all day. And he wants to love her properly. Thoroughly.

"Is your bedroom finished?" She whispers against his mouth and he thinks of saying something witty about christening a new bed but doesn't.

"Not quite, still the squeaky old bed."

She chuckles, "Oh, good."

He takes a step forward and she's in front of him so she moves too and they're walking in that funny, awkward way to his bedroom, with his arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder and she's smiling so wonderfully.

It's dark in there, the light from the hall providing some illumination. His hands are on her bare arms as he watches her look around, his fingers tracing patterns up and down her skin. She can hear how his breathing has deepened, how he stands so patiently waiting for her. She takes a step forward, out of his embrace, and turns very slowly to face him, taking hold of the hem of her top and lifting it above her head. Pleased when she sees his eyes darken, the slightly sharp intake of breath – clearly the new bra was worth it.

She steps past him to put her top on the chair by the bed and then starts unbuttoning his shirt and he stands still, arms by his side, watching her with a half-amused, half-mad-with-desire expression. Once she has it off him she hangs that over the chair too before sliding her palms over his chest, his stomach, the pebbled nipples, the greying chest hair – as if re-familiarising herself with how he feels. He lets her, keeps his hands still by his side (though it's killing him not to touch the creamy white skin before him) and then she bends, dips her head forward and kisses where she thinks his heart is, then over his chest, a little nip of her teeth to his right nipple and up to his neck, covering him with her affection.

When she gets to his chin, and then his mouth, he's smiling at her endearingly. And she has this warm, slightly apprehensive expression.

"I've missed this. I've missed you," he says and she smiles, meeting his mouth in a kiss.

He lets his hands touch her now, sliding down her bare back, over the clasp of her bra, squeezing her bottom through her skirt and then back up.

She feels the material loosen around her breasts and smiles against his lips, didn't take him very long, before shedding her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Then he's worked down the zipper on her skirt and she feels it slipping down her hips. Breaking the kiss she moves slightly to wiggle it down, his arms are still around her, hands resting lightly on her lower back, and steps out of it. She feels his chest move against hers as he sees her – lace panties, stockings and still in her heels – he might die from want.

"You're so very beautiful," he whispers, kissing her nose, her forehead. "So very, very beautiful."

She slides her hands wide over his chest again, "So are you." Her hands make quick work of his belt buckle and in moments he's stepping out of his trousers and she can see exactly what she's doing to him as the tip of erection is peeking through his boxers as if striving to be free.

She presses her mouth to his and her hand to his penis and he moans wonderfully in her mouth. Grasping her tight now and turning her in his arms so she leans against the wall, palms flat against it as his mouth works over her back, her neck, and his hands cup her breasts. He moves down to his knees and starts to peel down her panties, kissing her all the time, every inch of skin he can, down her thighs, following the trail the material makes, breathing in the heady scent of her. She slips off her shoes, feels him remove her underwear before starting to slowly inch her stockings down, he takes his time with the delicate silk and she wonders how such big, strong hands can be so tender.

She feels cool air as he leans back, and can imagine him looking up at her, completely naked now with ruffled hair and her bottom sticking out and her legs slightly parted.

Then he's touching her again, sliding one hand up her leg, her thigh, and she's the one to moan as his fingers slide against her. She knows she must be unbelievably wet, she's so turned-on, and that thought is both embarrassing and thrilling.

She turns, leaning completely against the cool wall and looking down at him knelt in front of her, his face awash with desire and want, and his hand is on her ankle, stroking her skin before he lifts her foot and moves forward, dangling her leg over his shoulder and she throws her head back as his mouth touches her.

"Charles…" his name in one long drawn out breath, her fingers in his hair, she dares herself to look down and watch him do it, intensifying the moment.

When she's panting in pleasure and on the verge of a climax she stops him, pushing hard against his shoulders to cease his movements – she wants it to be with him inside her, not like this just yet.

He seems to understand and gets to his feet, kissing up her stomach, he feels her yank down his boxers and he's so glad of the relief it brings to feel her small hand wrap around his length.

She pushes him back to the bed and he slides back, moving to the pillows, squashing them behind him and she's crawling onto his lap, on her knees, hovering over him. His hands on her hips as they kiss and that wonderful tease of her body being just _there_, the heat of her just over the tip of his erection but not quite enough.

"Elspeth," he whispers against her lips, his hands coming to grasp her bottom, "Darling, Elspeth."

She rests her forehead against his, smiling so very lightly as her hips roll and there's that wonderful anticipation in her stomach as she reaches between them and guides him inside her and for long moments they stay like that, bathing in the joy of being together again.

It's been so many weeks.

When she moves her hips they groan in unison and she sets a slow, deep rhythm, rolling against him, not quite enough friction but enough to draw the moment out, to make it last.

She alternates, leaning back so he can kiss her breasts, forward so her hair is in his face and he holds onto her, letting her lead this. She wants to, she wants to have him feel as wanted as he makes her feel.

Resting her hands on his chest for support she alters the movement, rising up on him now, then back down until his head is tipped back and he's grinding her name out repetitively. She leans forward again, meeting his mouth in a hot kiss and he's pushing up inside her, so eager now, so close. "Do that again," he pleads, "with your hips."

She smiles, leaning back, rolling on him and her hair is falling down and his fingers tangle in it as they both feel the deep orgasm build and fill them.

"I love you!" he shouts between moans and panting and struggling for breath, "I love you, I love you."

And she slams forward against him covering his mouth with hers.

* * *

"Don't ever go home again," he says sometime later, his lips moving over her shoulder. He's still sitting in the same position with pillows piled up behind him but she's half sat in his lap, her legs on the pillow beside him, her head resting on his arm.

"That would be nice," she says surprising him, drawing circles on his chest.

"Would it?" he kisses her forehead, hopeful, patient, not pushing.

"If you want me," she may be half dazed from the lovemaking but she knows what she's saying, what she wants. "I could come and stay, test the waters."

"I know I'd never want you to leave," he admits, cuddling her.

She looks up at him, her face soft and joyful, "I don't think I'd want to."

He thinks on it, turns the words over in his mouth before daring to say them aloud. "Elsie, are you going to move in?"

She smiles wonderfully, "I want to, if you want to as well…"

"Of course I want you to."

"Then I'm moving in."

The practicalities of getting her stuff in his small place will have to be discussed later, and what she does with her flat, he always assumed she rented which makes it easier but if not she might sell – he might be able to go back to his idea from so many weeks ago of them buying a place together.

"You're pondering something," she says tickling his neck.

"Just…" He looks down at her, curled in his arms, naked and beautiful, "Are you happy?" He asks shakily.

She smiles, slowly, warmly, "Like I've never been before."

* * *

_So, I kinda hope you enjoyed that enough to leave me a little message - as always I appreciate all your support and comments/reviews/re-blogs. x R_


	17. Chapter 17

_Not quite sure where this chapter came from! It wasn't in the plan but when I sat down to write this morning this happened!_

**Chapter 17**

**Sunday and Sex**

There's a delirious kind of happy realisation that comes when waking to somebody's touch. All senses seem heightened as the mind is still clouded with sleep.

Elsie muses on this very fact as she wakes to Charles' hands on her body. Her skin seems to hum with pleasure at his touch. She's aware he's lying beside her, propped up on one elbow watching her. She tries not to think about the faces she's pulling, or the noises coming from her mouth. But instead focuses on where his fingers are, and what they're doing, and how good it feels.

He seems to be testing out how her responses, how she moans to different sensations, where he should press lightly or with more force, where she's extra sensitive.

She hasn't opened her eyes yet. Neither has spoken. And somehow that only makes it all the more pleasurable. Communication without words. He's speechless anyhow, watching her that way.

She stretches her arm out above her, touches the coolness of the wall with her hand, shifts one leg up – bent at the knee – and the fingers that are sliding against her dip inside, testing, waiting.

When her breathing deepens and she's rolling against him she breathes his name and hears the smile in his response, "Yes…" And that's all she can think to say, that one syllable, simplistic word conveying so much joy, so much affection, so much harmony between them. "Yes, Charles. Yes."

She thinks she hears him gasp at the same time she does when her body tightens, curling in upon itself before flooding her with ecstasy.

She groans in delight, wiggling against the soft, warm mattress. She reaches for his hand, ceases his touch, too much now, too sensitive. For long seconds she's content to melt into the welcoming bed, his body alive next to hers. She can hear the shallow breaths coming from him, the restraint.

Finally she opens her eyes, turns her face to his on the pillow and offers him a crooked, satisfied smile.

"That was very nice." She says, her voice low, overflowing with fulfilment.

He smiles, moves his mouth down to hers and the kiss is full of possibilities, of his need.

She slides her hand down his chest, over his stomach, to his throbbing erection and he groans deeply into her mouth when she touches him, sliding her fingers down, up, circling until he's overwhelmed and rolling on top of her.

She's not usually the type to get there twice so quickly but he's enjoying himself and making love doesn't always have to result in earth-shattering orgasms. Sometimes it's as much about being together, sharing the small pleasures along with the intimacy. So she's surprised when her body responds so forcefully to him sliding inside of her. Deep and whole and she feels tremors low in her stomach that tells her this isn't just for him.

It's slow, unbelievably so when she knows he's so far gone. And when she lifts her hips, rolls her pelvis, he gasps involuntarily, followed by a full and deep groan, low in his throat. She claws at his shoulders, because she's coming so fast and it's unexpected and wonderful, and he thrusts against her, once, twice, his hips powerful, until he's growling her name and it's only the second thing he's said since they woke.

She's sorry for making him come so fast when he was trying so hard to hold back, but only momentarily so. His face is in the crook of her neck and she wraps her arms around him holding him close. When she giggles she's not sure where it comes from and he lifts his head up, a confused expression on his face.

"That was very nice too." She says, sliding her index finger down his nose.

He smiles, eyes dark and twinkling with pleasure, "More than nice."

"Yes. More than nice."

He dips his head, his mouth following the freckles across her chest, he loves this – the softness of her skin here, the fact he gets to touch it. The way the shades of skin alter, brown on her neck and upper chest where she's exposed to the sun, down to the very pale white of her breasts, the rosy flush of her nipples. His mouth makes the most of being in that position and circles one, his tongue tasting her.

"Did I ever tell you that you have the most amazing boobs I've ever seen?" He mumbles. "And touched. And held."

"Ah, Charles…" she chuckles at this touch, at his words, "We'll never get out of this squeaky bed." She gasps.

"Good." He mumbles against her skin. "I want to stay here forever loving you."

She threads a hand into his hair, "I'd exhaust you."

"It's a nice way to go." He moves against her again, keenly aware of his weight resting on her, he tries to balance on his arms. "In fact, when my times comes – let's say at least another twenty years or so – can it be making love to you?"

"That's hardly a pleasant thought for me, having you die on top of me."

He laughs, kisses her neck, "No. I suppose not."

"And what do you mean, twenty years or so, I'd only be 71."

"I'd be 77."

"So, at least another thirty years." She says softly, her arms circling his shoulders tenderly.

A lifetime couldn't be enough, he thinks, but he returns her smile and kisses her again.

"I have to go shower," she finally says.

"Don't. Don't shower."

She wonders if that's because he doesn't want her to move or because he wants her to smell like him all day, like this, sex.

"I was hoping you'd take me out for breakfast to that place you like and I can't go smelling of sweat and sex."

"I like how you smell."

"Other customers might not. Besides, I don't want people knowing what we've been doing all night."

"I have no issues with it."

She laughs again, "I'm sure you don't." She pushes against him. "Come on, I have a real liking for brioche and fruit, didn't you say they did that?"

"They do, and it's fantastic, they serve lemon curd mascarpone with it."

She rolls out from under him, leaving him collapsed on the bed. "Oh, it may be even nicer than the sex. I'm going to test out your new shower."

He's chuckling at her as he buries his face in the pillow.

* * *

She's very aware of being in the clothes from the previous night and pulls her jacket across her self-consciously as she waits outside the newsagents.

"Ready," he says, a pile of papers tucked under his arm. "What's wrong?"

"I feel very exposed, everyone will know I haven't changed this morning, or been home." She tucks her arm through his free one.

"How will they possibly know?"

"Because I'm wearing a gold, sparkly top and very high heels."

He slows his walk to accommodate her.

"Maybe they'll just think I'm dating a very glamorous woman."

"Oh goodness, you go here every Sunday don't you."

"Not every Sunday – most Sundays."

Another of his traditions she's now becoming part of. "They'll know I've spent the night…"

"And think me a very, _very_ lucky man."

She smiles, "Or me a lucky woman."

They take his favourite table by the window and she scans the menu as he opens his paper. It's still early and there are only a few people in and she soon begins to relax as she watches them – an elderly couple reading the morning news, a young woman with two children who are colouring pictures, and it's relaxed and easy to fit into his life.

She wonders momentarily if that's what she's doing – fitting into his life – has she moved from playing one role to assuming another? She feels more herself than she ever has. That she can be herself and that he loves her for that, not for some role he's hoping she can play.

Joe always wanted 'something', and she always felt like she never quite knew what that was, that she could never be good enough. Maybe that's how he wanted her to feel.

She shakes the thought away quickly; there isn't a place for him here. She woke feeling joyful and settled and she wants to hold onto that.

"So, I was thinking about the dreaded bed." She says, focussing on something else.

"Hmm…" He turns the page on his paper.

"Charles," she reaches for his hand and he puts the paper down, focussing on her. Watching how she caresses his fingers, turns over his hand to stroke his palm. "If I'm moving in we don't have to buy a new bed, we could just use mine."

"I suppose we could, yours is comfy." He folds his fingers around hers, "And you're actually moving in." He says, a hint of glee to his voice.

"And I actually am." She smiles. "It's only a week until half term, we can do it then. I think we'll need to organise some kind of storage unit, all my stuff is not going to fit in your flat."

He's nodding, "I can pack some of my things up too, put them in there so there's more room for yours."

"How sweet you are."

"Give and take, give and take." He teases. "And don't forget I have another floor that I don't use."

"Mrs Hughes!" A young voice exclaims interrupting them and she drops Charles' hand, looking up quickly.

"Emily. I didn't know you worked here."

"For ages now, I've never seen you here."

"It's my first visit. You probably know Mr Carson though."

"Yes, every Sunday, poached eggs on brown."

He smiles, "And that's what I'll be having, she's good."

"I take Emily for A-level History," Elsie points out.

"And is she a good teacher?" Charles asks.

"She's fab, she made us these brownies at Christmas and they were the best things ever."

"The mark of a really good teacher!" Elsie laughs.

"So, what can I get you Miss?"

"I think I'm going to have tea and this wonderfully sounding Brioche."

"That's totally gorgeous, my mum makes me take a piece home for her every week." She says scribbling on her pad.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"I'll go get your tea," Emily says. "Nice to see Miss."

Charles raises his eyebrows at her look, "What?" He asks.

"Nothing. I hope she doesn't work out I'm in last night's clothes." She blushes, thinking about what they were doing an hour ago.

"I'm sure she won't."

"It's an odd feeling to consider the fact your students might think of you as 'having sex'." She whispers the last part. "What were we talking about?"

"Beds!" He laughs.

"Oh, stop it." She leans back in her chair, "My only concern is Anna, she planned to come home for summer. I have to give a months notice anyhow on my flat and I suppose I could just keeping paying the rent on it so she has somewhere to stay until she decides what she's doing."

"As I said, I have an attic room, it's full of my mum's stuff that I keep meaning to sort through but it's there and it's a good, big room."

"I know but I'm not sure she'll want to live with us." She leant forward again, lowering her voice, "And besides, I rather like the idea of us living alone, especially in the beginning. You can't walk around naked if my daughter's living with us."

"Who says I do that?!" He chuckles.

"Just one of my little fantasies."

"I haven't forgotten about the sunflowers…" He said pointedly.

"Oh, goodness, I'd forgot I told you that."

They were laughing when Emily brought over a large pot of tea and extra hot water.

"Thank you dear," Charles said pouring.

"Are you looking forward to the prom?" Elsie asked the young girl.

"Yes. Going for my tan tomorrow night, so no doubt I'll be orange on Tuesday but probably just the right shade by Wednesday night."

Elsie smiled, "And your dress?"

"It's kind of fitted here, like a bodice, with these beads on it. And it has a skirt that goes like this," she showed how it stuck out. "Comes to just above my knee and its sort of pinky purple." She enthused.

"Sounds wonderful."

"You're coming aren't you Miss?"

"I am, and I'm still being pursued about this music thing."

"Aw you should do it, it'll be great. You'll be a total legend."

"Hmm, we'll see. Mr Carson will be there, perhaps he could sing."

"I think not." He said deadpan and they both laughed at him.

"I better go do some work, see you tomorrow. Done my essay, did it yesterday, it's pretty good…" She said as she backed away.

"I'm sure it is."

"She's a lovely girl," Charles said as he sipped his tea.

"She is. Most of them are, it's very rare we have any that aren't. This media representation of them all as selfish thugs is a myth."

"And you're a legend." He quipped, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Well, I already knew that." She boasted.

"What's your dress like Mrs Hughes?"

"Blue. I'll need you to fasten me into it because it's tight around the bodice and I probably won't be able to eat or breathe."

He chuckled, "Could be an issue! I need to try on my tux, not worn it in years."

"Maybe you can model for me later. We need to talk about money too, as romantic as that is."

"Money,"

"Rent."

"I own the place, I don't pay rent."

"No, but I should, I want to contribute."

He frowned, he didn't like discussing practicalities, money and bills – it wasn't his way.

"Don't pull that face, I should pay towards the bills."

He waved his hand, "they just take it from my bank account."

They quieted as their food was brought over and he focussed on his breakfast.

"Don't avoid the discussion," she said. "We'll look at the bills and split it and I'll give you a cheque every month."

"Alright, alright."

She chuckled, "You're a funny thing at times."

"I just don't want it to be awkward."

"It won't be if we handle it like adults."

He swallowed his first bite, realisation hitting, "I've lived alone for almost twenty years."

"Oh god, this could be a nightmare. You do realise we'll have to share space."

He nodded, "I'm not stupid. The flat's spacious though – kitchen, sitting room, two bedrooms, you can put things in the spare bedroom."

"A wardrobe I should think." She said in between eating. "And we should discuss the room next to the kitchen."

"My reading room."

"Yes…" This was delicate, how to ask him without offending? How to gently point out it would make more sense as a dining room? That she'd like to have guests over and entertain as a couple and that space would be perfect.

"Perhaps we should put a table in there." He suddenly said and she looked at her plate to avoid laughing. "I could always shift my leather chair to that attic room if you're sure Anna won't want it. And my bookcases."

"I'm sure there'll still be room for them in the dining room." She says gently. "And that Grandfather clock."

"Ahh well, I was thinking of putting that in the shop when it's done, I've picked out a space for it, I'll show you when we get back."

"And you're sure you'll be okay up there? I don't want you to feel pushed out of your own home?"

"Our home now," he makes a point of saying, proudly. "And I'll be fine, there's a good view from up there and it means I have to clear out mother's boxes, which I've put off for too many years."

"You are very lovely." She says, grazing her fingers across his before refilling their teacups.

"I know. I can be moody in the morning though and about the time I'm filling in my Tax Returns – just so you know."

"Noted. And you were far from moody this morning."

"That's because I had something 'nice' to wake up to."

* * *

Elsie watched as Beryl dished up cottage pie onto five plates.

"I'm sorry for dropping in like this." She said, fiddling with the corner of a place mat on the table. "I was on my way home and I needed to chat."

"Don't be silly, you know you're welcome here any time. You're sure you don't want any of this?"

"No, I'm fine, I had a big breakfast."

"I bet you did, you minx!" Beryl said waving her spoon at her. "No need to make the rest of us feel jealous."

Elsie blushed despite being quite used to Beryl's sense of humour. "Very funny. So, you haven't answered my question."

"What was it?"

"Do you think it's too soon?" She asked apprehensively.

Beryl breathed deeply, licking gravy from her finger. "I'm not sure you want me to answer that for you – you can answer it yourself. When did you start dating?"

"August."

"And it's now…?"

"A few days off June."

Beryl shrugged. "So…"

"I know, I know technically it's not too soon. Logically it isn't. But he's lived alone for sooo long."

"The poor man's been mooning after you for years."

"I'm not sure he has."

"He bloody well has. Kids!" She suddenly shouted and a trail of children traipsed into the room taking their plates and disappearing again. "This is family lunch." Beryl smirked.

"I'm interrupting it."

"No, they're all hooked on watching some afternoon film, Bill's in there with them. Now, where were we?"

"I'm sorry, I keep bothering you with all my relationship woes and you have all this going on."

"I like it, makes me feel like I'm in some American sitcom."

"What if I'm jumping into this because I'm used to having security?"

Beryl shook her head, "Joe was hardly security sweetheart, no offence."

"I guess not."

"And you've lived alone now for two years. It's not like you left one bed for another."

"No, but even though I've been divorced for that long it's not like it's been simple with Joe, it's not like it was a clean break. I almost slept with him not quite two months since."

"But you didn't. And you walked away and you haven't seen or spoken to him since. And that's good. Elsie, you know me, I'm nothing if not honest."

"Often to the point of being rude."

"Well then. Do you love Joe?"

She gives herself a second then shakes her head, "No. Not for years. And it's taken me since last summer to recognise that."

Beryl closed her eyes, "Finally. Believe me Charles loves you a thousand times more than he ever did, and I don't mean to hurt you by pointing that out."

"It's alright, I know you're right."

"Well, then, stop worrying and dissecting. If the two of you feel it's time to move in together than damn well move in and screw what everybody else thinks."

* * *

"Do you think it's too soon?" Charles asked apprehensively.

He'd gone to see Richard but found Isobel home alone.

He twisted the glass of juice in his hand; sitting in the back garden with her in the peace and quiet, it was a far cry from the previous week.

"Why are you asking me that?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Because I need to say the words out loud."

"Do _you_ think it's too soon?"

He closed his eyes, remembered Dubai – how he'd wanted to ask her then, to come home and live with her. Then he remembered how he felt when she trampled all over his heart. And the night in her flat when she'd finally opened up to him. And last night, when there was nowhere in the universe he would rather have been than cuddled up with her.

"No." He said. "Honestly Izzy, if I thought she'd say yes I'd marry her tomorrow." He drained his juice. "And I've never wanted to ask any woman that question."

"I know. You don't think she'd say yes?"

"No. She's not there yet, living together is a huge step."

"It is."

"And I think it's taken a lot for her to get to this point – her husband was a real bastard you know." He glanced up from the table to her face. "She'd hate to think I've told you that."

"I would never say anything, you know that."

"I worry sometimes she's still hung up on him. Well, not him, but not free of it, not completely. I know I'm not a rebound, but there's a lot there she hasn't confronted yet. Do you think I'm doing enough? I just try to be patient. To be her support when she gets to the point where she'll break down or reveal more. You're smart with these things Izzy, am I doing enough?"

"Patience is a wonderful attribute Charles, and you have it in bucket loads. Relationships are never straightforward, not one, but if you have love and friendship and trust at the heart of it then you can't go far wrong." She leant forward in her chair and squeezed her oldest friend's hand. "And you're so damned happy," she smiled. "You were gleeful when you turned up in my kitchen today and said you were moving in together. I think that's the answer to your original question."

He was smiling when his phone rang; apologetic he dug it from his jacket pocket, which hung loosely on the back of the chair.

"Hi sweetheart."

"Hi. Where are you?" She asked as she walked to her car, her phone pressed to her face.

"Erm, I'm at Richard and Isobel's, I'm just talking to Isobel. Where are you?"

"Just about to drive home from Beryl's. Are you staying there?"

"No, I didn't plan to for much longer. Why?"

"Come over. I want to see you."

* * *

She meets him at the door to her flat, kissing him before he's even inside, he kicks the door closed behind him and her hands are on his face, her body tight against his.

"Take me to bed," she whispers and he easily lifts her into his arms and carries her through to the bedroom.

They make love in the late afternoon with the spring sunshine on their skin and the curtains blowing in the breeze.

After, he lies on his side watching her, his fingers sliding up and down her spine, and she has her face turned to him on the pillow.

"Tell me about your first time," she murmurs. "I bet you were just a kid."

"I went to a Catholic school remember. We were well behaved."

She chuckled, "Oh, I'm sure you were."

"I was sixteen."

"Ah! So young! I'd hate to think the sixteen year olds I teach are having sex."

"It was bloody awful."

"I bet you came in about ten seconds."

"Pretty much, probably fifteen."

She laughed, his hand still on her lower back, a warm heavy weight against her skin.

"I didn't realise it at the time but she was a bit of a… well, I wasn't her first, by a long shot, let's put it like that."

"And how old was she?"

"Only fifteen."

"Woah."

"I know." He settled down into the pillow, his face near hers. "It was horrible. You know, you know that break between your exams and then the long summer?"

She nodded, more than content to listen, this was what intimacy was – lying here naked with him sharing these stories, these secrets.

"It happened then. At home. We were alone in the house, kissing on the sofa, and I was sixteen so of course my hands were wandering and wandering to see how far I could go."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes…"

"And then I thought, I'll just test this out so I was tiptoeing my fingers along the buckle of her belt."

"Was she in trousers or a skirt?"

"Jeans. So I'm just slipping my fingers around her belt and she stops kissing me and says, 'If you're going to touch me there then you better promise to fuck me later.'"

"What the hell?!" Elsie exclaims.

"I know. I told you at the time I didn't realise she was quite so 'free and easy' with her affections – that line soon made me wise up but, I say again, I was sixteen! Some girl has just offered me sex, I was hardly going to turn it down."

"Hardly!"

I have no memory of getting to my bedroom but within seconds we were naked and she was on my bed and I was on my knees in front of her…" he frowned shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, it's one of the most mortifying moments of my life."

"You can't stop now, I need to know the end."

"You can guess the end."

"About ten seconds after you were on your knees. Is that the mortifying part?"

"No. Worse than that. She actually asked… _oh god_…"

"What? Charles, you have to say." She was giggling at his expression and he was laughing too, despite the embarrassment of the memory.

"She asked me if I'd put it in yet! How embarrassing is that? Not that I cared at the time."

She snorted with laughter, "Oh good lord. And you're quite well-endowed."

"Thank you darling!" He said proudly.

"You're welcome honey!"

"So, I must have thrust in and out about three times and that was it, I came, and it was my first orgasm."

"Really? That surprises me, I thought you would have…you know… on your own."

"I did. But never quite got _there_."

"So what happened next?"

"She got up and left. Got dressed and went. I was in such a state of euphoria I don't even remember what I said. You remember your first orgasm – your head's all over the place. I was on the ceiling."

She nodded, "Well yes, but my first was on my own. It's a bit of a different thing with girls, it's not all that comfortable the first few times."

"I know. Believe me, that girl was no virgin."

"Apparently not."

"So, return the favour. Who was your first?"

"Erm, I was seventeen, almost eighteen, and it was my boyfriend, a boy I'd been with for a while. And it was planned to within an inch of its life, we found a hotel room, we spent the night. I remember I bled, which scared me, and every time he moved inside me I thought my skin was being torn."

"Ouch!"

"Luckily, it got better."

"Thank the lord."

She smiled, feeling his fingers stroking her back again.

"Tell me another story – was that your only embarrassing experience?"

"God no, I had loads of them all through school and University."

"You dirty thing! Sleeping around."

"I didn't sleep with them all, usually it was just 'playing'. I didn't have sex with anyone following that experience until I was nineteen. There was this girl who I adored, was totally enamoured with her all through upper school, and she knew it. We went on this trip once and the train was full so she asked if she could sit on my knee."

"The little minx."

"I know, of course I thought it was great at the time. And I had this massive erection the entire journey and she kept wobbling around – on purpose. When the train stopped she got up, looked down at me and said 'Well, I enjoyed that.' And off she went, never spoke to me again."

"What a tease."

"I know. She was laughing about me with her friends too, I brushed it off and just said I'd enjoyed having her in my lap but I really liked her. At that age I thought it was love."

"That was really mean of her to do that."

He nodded. "Hormones hey."

"Clearly. You know I must have been a good girl, I never did any of this stuff until that boy I just mentioned and then of course Joe after that. And now you. I've slept with three people – I'm practically an angel."

"You are." He kissed her forehead. "Oooh, I have one that will make you laugh."

"Go on."

"So, you know Catholic School and we had a church in the grounds and there were woods surrounding the whole place – a lot of students disappeared in there to 'experiment'. And one day it's raining so me and my girlfriend at the time crept into the vestry."

"In the house of God!"

"Don't judge me yet, I think God had a laugh at me anyhow. So, I'm in there with my girlfriend – Alice her name – and we hadn't done anything other than touch because she was fiercely Catholic and wanted to wait until marriage."

"A-ha."

"So we were kissing, and then getting carried away and saying things to each other – you know, how much we're turned on, that kind of thing."

"Okay."

"Then the R.E. teacher storms in, bellowing at us."

Elsie sniggered.

"And I'm desperately trying to make it better, we were only kissing Miss, it was only _oral_…"

Elsie dissolved in hysterics, hiding her face in the pillow as she laughed.

"My vocabulary wasn't great then, of course I meant it was only verbal, not oral. So I'm marched down to the Head teacher's office and accused of having oral sex in the vestry."

"You naughty, naughty boy."

"My mother nearly killed me when she got that call."

"Was your mother fierce? I bet she was."

"Too right, she used to hit me with a belt, or a slipper, whatever was to hand, when I stepped out of line. What about your mother?"

"Not really." She rolled onto her back; the light was shifting now, the sun sinking and the room shaded. "My father was the punisher."

And he could kick himself, because they were having such fun – such a fun, intimate conversation and now the tone had changed.

He remains still and silent beside her, waiting.

"He had this way of making you feel the upmost guilt you could. We'd have to stand in front of him," she stared up at the ceiling and held her hand out. "Put our hand out, palm up, and he'd say 'Now, you know why I'm going to hit you?' And you'd tell him, so then he'd say 'And you understand why I'm disappointed in you?' And of course we'd say yes." She swallowed, "Then, 'and you know I don't want to hurt you, you've brought this on yourself.' And then slam! A whack straight down on your hand, then another, then another. Until you were sobbing. The older we got the longer we could take it without crying."

She turned again, facing him, "I experienced that three times, then I became the model daughter – I never stepped a foot out of line."

He reached across to stroke her arm; not saying a word, there was nothing to say.

The room was almost in darkness now and she glanced over his shoulder to the clock, almost 20:00.

"You know I've done no work today," she said. "I've spent most of it in bed with you."

"What better place to be. This bed is going to be fine for us you know, in my bedroom."

"What will be 'our bedroom'."

"Blissfully so. Do you need to work, am I in your way?"

"Never." She kissed his shoulder, across his broad chest. "You could never be in my way. I'll work tomorrow. I want to just enjoy this."

She snuggled up against him and he remembered thoughts he'd had months ago – of being emotionally and physically intimate with her. Of exploring sexuality alongside love. It occurred to him that suddenly he was in the midst of that, and it was wonderful.

"Are you hungry?" She asked.

"A little."

"Let's have tea and toast in bed."

"Lovely."

She rolled on top of him, her body full length against his.

He brushed the hair from her face, where her fringe dropped over her forehead.

"Thank you." She said.

"For?"

"Being patient and kind and loving. Sometimes I think back to what my life was like before you and I can't believe we're at this point now. That I have you."

"I still can't believe I have you. All those years admiring you from afar."

"I'm not sure I'm to be admired."

"Oh but you are. Such a strong, beautiful woman. Plenty to be admired. And loved."

She smiled, "I like you saying that to me." She bent her head and kissed him deeply, trying to convey all in her heart with one kiss. It was impossible to put into words.

"Stay here, I'll go get the toast."

He watched as she climbed out of bed, putting on a lamp and finding her dressing gown.

"There are some moments that are just too exquisitely perfect," he said watching her, his arms folded beneath his head. "Like watching you move about naked."

"Pervert."

"Tease."

She giggled. "Behave or you get no toast."

"Will I get this treatment when you move in?"

"No, in my experience as soon as couples start doing serious things like moving in together all treats disappear, including sex." She picked up his trousers from the floor and folded them, laying them over a chair.

"Then I rescind my offer."

"Too late," she leant over him in the bed, kissing his forehead. "You're stuck with me now."

* * *

_Well, I hoped you enjoyed that little surprise chapter. As always reviews/comments are lovingly appreciated! x_


	18. Chapter 18

_Okay, before this chapter gets going I've just got to say THANK YOU for all the wonderful reviews and reblogs. You might think it's sad but on Friday I was dead excited because I was so close to 300 reviews (which would be the most I've ever received for a story) and now a few days later I'm close to 350 and it's overwhelming how kind and supportive all your comments are. I can't tell you how valued it is._

_So, that's it, thanks! Enjoy the Prom - and of course she's in her 2013 SAG Awards dress and Charles sexy in a tux ;-)_

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Prom Night**

Elsie opened the door to her flat to find Charles leaning against the banister rail at the top of the stairs, one leg crossed over the other, a red rose dangling loosely from his fingers.

"Well…" she said, deliberately elongating the word. "How suave you look."

"The name's Carson." He said with a clipped voice. "Charles Carson."

She bit back her laughter, "My Mr. Carson. And what can I do for you?"

"Oh, I think there's plenty _you_ could do for me."

She laughed openly now, "Come in, you old fool."

"Less of the old."

He followed her into the flat, noting with pleasure the cardboard boxes already piling up in the hall – clearly she'd been packing.

"What time's the taxi?"

"About fifteen minutes – I hope I'm going to be able to get into it with the skirt on my dress – we want to make sure we're there before the students arrive, the big arrival in silly cars is all part of the fun."

He followed her into her bedroom, placing the rose on her pillow as she unwrapped her dress from the dry-cleaning packaging.

"Nice touch," she said, noting his actions.

"The art of seduction." He grinned, sitting on the bed. "Your hair looks good."

"It's pinned to within an inch of its life."

"Mine too." He said touching his head.

"Aren't you Mr Comedy tonight. Come, help me get into this thing." She unfastened the tie on her robe and he sucked in a tight breath then whistled – lacy underwear and stockings.

"So, hold on, let me just get a photo of this stage of the evening first." He said reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"Don't you dare!" She snatched her robe back together.

He chuckled, "Alright, alright. Let's get this dress on."

She held it in front of her and he took it from her, holding the skirt as she stepped into it and pulled the bodice up.

"Is it heavy? Can you walk?"

"It's alright actually." She said turning round so he could fasten her up at the back.

"Great turning circle," he couldn't help but kiss her back, bare as it was to him, before pulling up the zip.

"There." She turned to face him, swirling the skirt around her. "Pretty good right?"

"Pretty darn good. In fact I think you look good enough that I'll let you accompany me to the Prom tonight." He joked tightening his necktie. "What do you reckon?"

"Hmm… I might just accept the offer. Just some lipstick then we can go. Don't let me forget the quiz cards for the tables and confetti."

"Are we having a wedding too?"

"No, it's for Prom King and Queen."

"Bloody hell we're turning into America you know."

"The kids love it." She finished off her make-up – he'd never seen her with bright red lipstick before and it did something wicked to his stomach. "What?" She asked as she turned to face him.

"Nothing… just… you know, red lipstick and sexy underwear – I think I've decided on my birthday treat. Rather like the idea of letting your hair down later too."

"Maybe when we get home," she said pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "Let's go."

Almost immediately she tripped over the hem of her dress and he caught her arm before she smashed into the wall, "Careful Cinderella."

"Great start hey."

She tripped twice more between her bedroom and the taxi.

* * *

They used the back door into the hotel, and she led him through the plain, grey corridors to the main ballroom.

"You didn't tell me you were on the Prom committee." He said as he took in their surroundings – a grand hall, circular tables decorated with flowers and small bags of chocolates surrounded a fairly large, polished wooden dance floor.

"You never asked." She put her bags down on the top table, "This is ours. Should you get lost."

"Don't leave me alone."

Smiling she handed him a stack of cards, "Now, I need two sets on every table."

"Yes Miss."

"None of your cheek young man."

Chuckling he started to move around the room. The band was busy setting up and waiting staff were pouring non-alcoholic cocktails.

"Are we allowed to drink here?" He asked across the room.

"Of course, it's year 13 remember, most are over 18 now, so some will be drinking too no doubt. Oh, and I ordered beef for you, I figured you'd prefer that option to the fish."

"Correct. Starter?" He listened to her dress skim the dance floor as she crossed from one side to the other, the click of her heels upon its surface.

"Some cheese thing for you, soup for me."

"Dessert?"

"A wonderful sounding melting chocolate pot for you."

"Fabulous. Good choices Mrs. H."

"Honestly, you're worse than the children." She said as she reached him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Now, remember my head of department…"

"Phyllis."

"Well done. And try to avoid Mr dull and boring."

"Colin Spratt. I even remembered the Head is called Jack and will give a lengthy speech recycled from last year."

"You could pass for a member of staff."

The band started tuning up as they finished putting out the quiz cards and Charles had made it back to the top table, he put the leftover packs in Elsie's bag.

"Am I putting confetti out too?"

"Hell no, they'll throw that as soon as they sit down. We wait until it's crowning time after the meal."

"Military operation."

"Always is." She checked the final picture name card. "I think we're done."

He met her halfway across the dance floor. "Fancy a dance then Mrs H?" He said, his hands already sliding down her arms and to her waist, sliding deliciously across the silk of her skirt.

"Am I going to have to put up with this behaviour all night?"

"If you're lucky."

"Hmm, you keep misbehaving you won't be _getting_ lucky." But she was already swaying with him to the music.

"We're not living together yet, we can still have fun."

She giggled, "I guess so."

The lights flashed a few times between darkness, bright white, red, purple and finally dimmed as the engineer played with them and circles of bright colours flashed across the dance floor around them.

"I'm thinking the music won't be this nice and relaxing all night." He noted.

"Probably not, this is the soothing background noise before the pound, pound, pound of later."

"I may escape outside at that point."

"Fair enough. There's a private bar we can use, you can escape in there if you need to. Did I say thanks for giving up your Wednesday evening for this?"

"Not quite yet but I guess I'm going to be rewarded." He kissed her forehead just as a short man with thick, grey hair and a beard strode into the room.

"My, my Elsie, this looks wonderful."

She reluctantly let go of Charles and turned to greet the Head teacher.

"Thank you Jack, not just me though, I think Sheena's been here for hours, she's gone upstairs to change."

"Well, credit to you both." He leaned in and kissed her cheek, "And you look lovely."

"Thank you. Jack this is Charles Carson."

"Very nice to meet you Charles," he said shaking his hand. "Nice to meet a friend of Elsie's, she's thought very highly of here you know by both staff and students."

"They're not the only ones."

"You're looking forward to the Prom?"

"My first experience of one so I'm not quite sure what to expect."

"A civilized meal on our table and raucous good fun down here. And lots of dancing…"

"…And screaming over dresses." Elsie added. "We better go out and find our place so we don't miss the grand entrances."

* * *

Positioned outside the hotel in the early evening sunshine Charles remained close to the building, saying hello to the staff Elsie introduced him to but generally keeping out of the way during the busy entrance; content to watch and sip on his wine.

It was interesting to see her in her work setting, she was less 'free' with her behaviour, more measured and 'correct' but she exuded confidence that was often lacking in other areas of her life. Clearly she loved every second of it and she was good at it and that made him feel proud.

The sunlight caught in her hair casting shades of amber and gold through it, and as she turned sideways she was laughing at something a colleague was saying and the earrings she wore swung and glistened. She was all peachy skin and smiling red lips and bright blue eyes and he felt overwhelmed with affection for her. There were moments like this when he still couldn't comprehend that she was his, or rather she was with him, choosing to be. He'd spent so many years admiring her from afar, nursing a silly crush, and searching elsewhere for some kind of meaningful something, ending up alone and content to be so because it seemed that whatever was out there it wasn't going to fulfil him.

Now he was. Finally.

When he got the opportunity he moved behind her and she instinctively tilted her head back towards him. "Alright?" She asked, genuinely concerned that he be at ease – she knew this wasn't his usual type of thing and she didn't want him to feel awkward or compelled to try and fill a role.

"More than." He allowed the fingertips of his right hand to gently graze her lower back as he whispered by her ear, "You look stunning. Absolutely stunning."

She smiled, lowering her eyes, turning her head just slightly to acknowledge what he'd said.

"Here we are," Phyllis said, interrupting them. "Jack's forked out for the fizzy stuff so let's dig in."

"Thank you," Elsie said taking one from him and holding her glass up to theirs. "Here's to a stress-free fun evening."

"Here, here!" Phyllis chimed in, knocking her glass against Elsie's. "Ooh, here they come. First of the stretch limos."

Charles turned his head to see the ugliest car he'd ever laid eyes on creep down the driveway towards the hotel, a rather putrid colour pink and silver alloys. What were people thinking?

It was the first of many such vehicles, though there was a fun old milk float and a fire engine which he rather enjoyed, all of them depositing youngsters dolled up like Hollywood stars.

They'd been standing there for well over forty-five minutes and still people arrived.

A group of girls ambled over, towering over her in heels and expensive dresses. Charles couldn't help but wonder how they made themselves that peculiar shade of orange.

"Mrs. Hughes! Mrs. Hughes! Can we have a picture?" A cloud of perfume seemed to follow them as they moved and he stepped out of the way, pressing himself against the wall of the building as they moved closer.

"Of course girls," she handed her glass to Charles. "You all look so gorgeous."

He watched how they positioned her in the middle, at least twelve of them gathering around, her the centre of attention – their affection for her palpable.

"That alright?" She asked after a few shots had been taken.

"Thanks Miss, the necklace looks great by the way."

"Thank you, and the earrings too, see." She smiled, touching them as she returned to retrieve her Champagne from Charles.

"I take it they got them for you."

"They did indeed, a class gift. It's nice, to know they're grateful."

"And rich."

"Well, their parents are."

The last of the students had arrived and were dawdling inside and some of the staff were hurrying them in.

"Looks like dinner's about to start, shall we go get our seats?"

"Yes. I'm starving."

She glanced up at him and rolled her eyes, he always was!

* * *

"And the award for most likely to be Prime Minister is… Niamh Sherwood."

There was a round of applause and a few cheers as a smart girl got up and crossed the floor to accept her award.

"Who's this woman doing this?" Charles whispered by Elsie's ear, hidden by the dim light in the room.

"Head of Year 13, her name's Anne. She's from France."

"Thought she had an accent." He fiddled with the wine bottle on the table, easing the cork out and refilling both of their glasses.

"What do you do then Charles?" A man sat on his other side asked, holding his glass out, P.E. teacher apparently, name of Jeremy.

"I own a bookstore in town, having it renovated at the moment." He said, replacing the cork in the bottle.

"Don't worry, I'll be advertising it around school come the grand re-opening." Elsie said, squeezing his wrist.

"Teacher awards!" Phyllis exclaimed, banging her hands on the table.

They laughed and clapped as the Head got up to receive the award for best beard.

"Let's have a drink every time one of us wins." Jeremy said raising his glass.

"We do have to work tomorrow." Spratt pointed out and Elsie rolled her eyes and deliberately took a sip of her wine just as a teacher from the next table got up to collect an award. "It's only an inset." She said.

"How does this work then?" Charles asked, genuinely interested.

"Well, we have these categories for the students and the staff vote for them. So then the kids wanted to do the same, so they created categories for the staff and voted for us."

"Right, got it. Do we get dessert after this?"

She twisted her head to look at him and laughed, "Yes, we do."

"Just checking." He shrugged.

"And the award for the kindest, most caring teacher goes to… who else… Mrs Hughes!"

The students clapped and stamped their feet and she was sure she heard a few wolf whistles as she got up and made her way across the dance floor (praying she didn't trip on the skirt). She took a gracious bow, accepted her award from the girl handing them out and a kiss to each cheek from the young man assisting.

"Yay!" She said waving it as she returned to the table. "Something for the mantelpiece."

"If nothing else exciting happens in your life Elsie you know you've got that." Jeremy teased.

"Oh absolutely, my absolute proudest moment, this might even rival Anna's graduation this year."

Charles rested his hand discreetly on her back, stroking down her spine with his thumb. The awards seemed to be coming to an end and waiting staff were starting to serve dessert and coffee.

He glanced at his watch, 9:09. They were running a bit late but not by much.

She turned her head close to his, "I'm going to hand the confetti out, we'll be doing the big crowning thing next then we're free if you want." She said.

"It's fine, I'm enjoying it. And congratulations."

"Thank you very much." She preened.

"You want a hand?"

"No it's fine, Sheena's going to help."

She got up, leaning on his shoulder and then disappearing to deliver the small boxes.

From what he could recall Sheena was the Food Technology teacher, or she could have been I.C.T and Debbie Food. He couldn't keep them all straight in his head. One thing he did remember though was that Lisa from the next table was regarded as persona non grata after trying it on with the German teacher, who happened to be married to the Deputy Head. The entire staff knew, so Elsie had told him, and there'd been quite an awkward few months where rather risqué emails had been discovered. She looked nice enough to him but he never could read people.

"So, how long have you known Elsie then?" Phyllis asked, taking advantage of Elsie's free chair and moving along.

"Oh, erm, a long time, seventeen years, about that. She used the shop and we got talking."

"Oh right…" Phyllis seemed to think on it then her eyes widened, "Oh!"

"Oh, no, nothing untoward happened. Not until last August, I knew she was married before that. We just passed the time of day."

"I didn't mean that." Phyllis blushed, Charles thought she looked a bit sozzled, the way she was swaying in her chair and waving her glass of red wine about – he was growing concerned for his shirt.

"Elsie's not that type," she said. "And Joe wasn't the type to allow it neither."

Mention of her ex-husband hit him square in the chest but he carried on as if nothing had been said.

"And how long have you worked together?" He asked, trying his best to keep the conversation going – Elsie had done the same at his 'do' he wasn't going to let her down.

After dinner and the final awards the disco started and a few of the staff disappeared into the private bar – Charles joining them. He'd tried to take Elsie with him but some of the students had dragged her onto the dance floor and the last he saw of her she was having pictures taken.

He got himself a brandy and collapsed into the leather chesterfield sofa, exhaling as he swallowed the first taste of the alcohol.

"Mind if I join you?" Spratt asked, taking the free seat beside him.

"Be my guest." Charles said.

"Not my scene all this banging music."

"Nor mine. I want something I can actually dance to."

"Here, here." He tapped his glass against Charles'.

With two brandies under his belt Charles couldn't understand why Elsie didn't get on with Spratt, it was clear he had a great deal of time for her (Charles was even tempted to go as far as to say he had a bit of a crush) and he was a knowledgeable and refined gentleman. A man after his own heart, who liked the finer things in life and knew his way around a library.

After spending a good hour or so in his company he excused himself to visit the men's room. Only he got lost on the way and ended up going out of the fire exit – catching a couple of students up against a wall – before turning around and taking the corridor to the left in search of lavatories.

"Spratt's such an old man though." The voice of a young woman said, and he stopped, paused, he didn't want to walk into gossip. He leant against the wall, suddenly feeling his chocolate dessert making a reappearance, it was hot in there.

"Yes, but the stupid thing is he's only in his forties. He looks like he's in his sixties, all that tweed and brown, at work every day at 7:00 on the dot. Get a life!"

Definitely not students talking, he could tell they were older and he thought he smelt cigarette smoke.

"Hey, don't forget Elsie's there at that time too and nothing wrong with her, decent lady."

"She is. What's with the guy she's with though? Now he's definitely in his sixties, no wonder he's been with Spratt all night."

They chuckled then the second voice said, "He seems nice enough though, and he's tall, I like tall men."

"Yeah but her first husband was hot!"

"Left her didn't he, for a younger woman?"

"Men are such bastards."

"Totally." He heard them moving, one of them stubbing out their cigarette on a plate. "Well, at least this new one won't be wandering."

"I should hope not, she doesn't deserve it. And he doesn't look the type to be putting it about."

"If he's anything like Spratt he won't know where to put it!"

He turned quickly, finding his way back to the fire exit and outside into the cool night air, past the snogging students and around to the front of the hotel. For a moment he felt disorientated and he found a low wall to sit on as he caught his breath.

He kept telling himself they weren't talking about him, it was Spratt they were insulting and he'd heard Elsie say similar things about him – not as vicious but similar. But that didn't take away the sting; they thought him old and Elsie having settled. And he was angry with them for having discussed her in such a way, when they didn't know the truth of the matter.

Of course he knew he was being irrational. People gossiped all the time. He himself did. But he was annoyed that overhearing such a conversation from two silly, young teachers had ruined a perfectly pleasant evening.

He looked at his watch, 11:25, and decided to fetch Elsie and go home. He needed to lie down.

She was chatting animatedly to other staff and students at the edge of the dance floor and he came up behind her – how beautiful she looked, how vivacious – and rested his hand on her back.

She turned to face him, reaching to squeeze his arm, a genuine look of pleasure on her face at the sight of him, "Hi, I was wondering where you were."

"Got talking to Spratt in the bar."

"Oh," she rolled her eyes. "Are you okay, you look tired?"

"Getting that way."

"Alright." She turned his arm to look at his watch, "It is getting late, I have to be up tomorrow. Do you want to call for a taxi and I'll say goodnight?"

"Sure, I'll wait in the foyer."

He waved his goodbyes to people before heading back outside.

In the back of the taxi she leant her head against his shoulder, holding onto his arm as she was lulled to sleep by the movement of the car. He woke her as they reached her flat, paid the driver and held her up as they approached the door.

"I have a card," she said, searching in her handbag and retrieving a plastic card which she swiped before typing in a code.

"These modern doors," he said. "What's wrong with just a key?"

"Mmm," she was yawning as they took the stairs up and he knew within half-an-hour she'd be asleep.

Upstairs she put the kettle on and followed him into the bedroom, waiting as he unzipped her and easing herself out of the dress.

"Oh, it feels good to take it off." She said. "I need to wash my face, get a cup of tea and have a lie down."

"I'll get the tea," he said, feeling rather stunted, muted by what he'd overheard.

"Thank you honey, you're wonderful." She patted his chest, kissed his mouth. "And thank you for coming, you were so lovely and patient with it all."

He smiled, "Hey, I was the partner of an award winner, happy just to be on your arm."

She was humming in the bathroom as she removed her make-up; she almost unpinned her hair then remembered Charles' request so left it up. The rose was still on her pillow and she picked it up and breathed in its scent before lying it on her dressing table and getting into bed.

Charles' ears were ringing from the volume of the disco and he wondered how much damage had been caused. He couldn't recall the music being that loud when he was young but logically it must have been.

Carrying the tea into the bedroom he set the cups on the set of drawers by the bed and started to undress. Elsie had her eyes closed and was laid back on piled up pillows.

"Shame we didn't get to dance more." She said lethargically.

"Yes. Waste of a great dress."

"Maybe I can put it on one Saturday and we can sway around your lounge." She said and he's almost forgotten she was moving in soon, that by next Wednesday they would be in his flat permanently.

A thought suddenly occurred to him and he stopped short of sitting on the bed, "I am staying over, aren't I?"

"Of course you are," she chuckled, sitting up and touching his bare back. "Silly question."

She pulled the duvet back for him and he got in, cupping his tea and watching silently as she sat forward and pulled out her hairpins. Each lock fell in a slightly twisted curl down her back and he thought of tangling his fingers into it, curling it around his hand, savouring the warmth and perfume of it. But he no longer felt in that mood, as foolish as he knew he was being, it wasn't her fault but he didn't particularly feel like letting this evening go on for any longer.

"I'm tired," she said, climbing out of bed and depositing the pile of pins on the dresser.

"Me too."

"What a lovely night though, I'm so glad they all enjoyed it." She climbed back in, sipped her tea. "And I have to get up tomorrow…" she complained, setting her alarm.

Switching his lamp off Charles settled down in the bed, staring up at the flawless white ceiling above him. His ceiling wasn't flawless, there were cracks in it and it was yellowing over the window where the sunlight had been on it – must be a good ten years since his ceiling had benefitted from a fresh coat of paint.

She turned her lamp off, sending the room into darkness and flattened her pillows down.

"Are you alright all the way over there?" She asked, observing the substantial gap between them in the bed.

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine. Sorry, just flopped down where I was sat."

Smiling she shuffled across the bed, finding his mouth with hers and kissing him deeply, lovingly. "You're a wonderful man Charles Carson. I'd give you an award for that."

And then she laid down, her head against his chest; her arm across his stomach, and within minutes was asleep.

It took Charles rather longer to stop his mind from whirring.

* * *

When the alarm went Elsie couldn't have felt less like getting up. She was lying on her back with her hand covering her phone to switch off the bleeping and Charles was curled against her, this giant of a man with his head nestled against her chest.

She lay quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the weight of him against her, the enjoyment of not waking alone. The early morning sunshine was peeking in through the gap in the curtains and she felt happy.

Today was an inset day, so no need for her to be in too early, and then she had just over a week of freedom in which to move into Charles' flat. Then one last stretch and summer, and weeks of being with him, helping in his shop, the trip to Italy… she was actually rather excited about the future, and she hadn't been able to say that in years.

Easing out from beneath him she tiptoed to the bathroom to shower, leaving him asleep in her bed.

When she emerged with damp hair and only her underwear on she didn't even notice the bed was empty, she was so used to it being that way. She had put on her jeans and face-cream before it hit her.

"Charles?" She asked, padding barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. "What are you doing?" She asked amused at the sight on him in his boxers and an open shirt.

"Well, I hope you're not going in like that. Put a top on at least Mrs Hughes. I know it's an informal day but this might be a step too far." He teased, noting her jeans and bra.

She shook her head, repeating. "What are you doing?'

"Making you breakfast."

She smiled, "Nobody ever gets me breakfast, I go to Costa on the way in to work, that's my routine."

"Well, Costa won't be on your route when you're going from my place." He said, handing her a mug of tea.

"That's very true, I guess it's time for a new routine."

He nodded, "Go finish getting ready, won't be long."

When she re-emerged from the bedroom there were pancakes on a plate and a few strawberries beside them and he was sitting at one end of the table cradling a cup of tea.

"How lovely," she said, taking a seat. "But you didn't have to get up Charles, it's very early." She glanced at the clock on the oven, 7:05. "You look tired, you should go back to bed."

"I'm okay, I'm up now."

"Are you sure you're alright?" she said in between bites. "You were quiet when we got in last night."

He rubbed his face, "Maybe I am just tired."

She polished off the last strawberry and got to her feet, putting her plate in the sink.

"I'll do that."

Smiling she slid her hands over his shoulders, resting her chin on top of his head. "You're like the perfect house guest." She kissed his hair, "Thank you for breakfast, it was lovely. Now go back to bed, I don't mind, just don't go fiddling around in my knicker drawer when you're alone in the flat.

Despite his low mood he laughed at that. "Promise." He said, forming the scout's three-fingered salute.

"Will I see you later?" She asked, kissing his cheek.

"I'm not sure, I've got to get back to the shop, do some work."

"I could come to you, I don't like the idea of sleeping without you now."

He felt his chest tighten, "Don't you need to pack?"

She smiled against his skin, "Oh yes, that little thing." She kissed his cheek again. "And I have to get going or I'll get stuck in traffic and be late." She stood up, collecting her bag from the floor. "I'll call you later and we can sort something out."

"Alright."

"Go sleep." She said as she walked out the door.

* * *

_Oh, poor Charles. I do love him so! Please leave me a little message if you feel so inclined :-) x_


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry for the delay in this chapter - marking exam papers! _

_And I'm going classic old-school on my music choice with no shame :-)_

_I gotta take a little time  
__A little time to think things over  
__I better read between the lines  
__In case I need it when I'm older_

_In my life there's been heartache and pain  
__I don't know if I can face it again  
__Can't stop now, I've travelled so far  
__To change this lonely life_

**Chapter 19**

**Strange Saturday**

Sat in amidst a pile of old magazines and forgotten Birthday cards Elsie sighed heavily. Why did she keep such rubbish? Making a determined decision she got up, found an empty plastic box and tipped the entire lot in for recycling. If she hadn't looked at them in so many years she'd forgotten they were there then she certainly wouldn't miss them.

"_Can we stop, hurting each other? Gotta stop, hurting each other. Making each other cry, breaking each other's hearts, tearing each other apart…"_ She sang along with the music, leaning over where her laptop rested on the dining table and upping the volume.

She heard the door to the apartment bang and shouted, "You're late. Twenty minutes late."

He followed the sound of her voice, found her kneeling on the floor packing CDs into a box.

"Twenty two minutes exactly." He said, standing by the door watching her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, over the top of her glasses. "I'll forgive you, but only because I like you rather a lot."

He smiled, "Thanks."

"Now come kiss me, and let's start shipping some of this stuff."

He bent over, his hand on her shoulder, and kissed her gently.

"Mmm, hello." She said, tipping her face up to his. "I've missed you, you left me on my own Thursday AND Friday night."

"I know," he plonked himself on the sofa, "And I'm sorry, I couldn't get out of things."

She didn't appreciate the vague excuses but figured she'd leave it be – if he was feeling nervous about living with her she couldn't deny him a couple of extra nights on his own to prepare.

"I've organised things into stuff I will definitely need and things that can go into the storage unit, once we find one. Then things for the rubbish and things for charity."

"That's some list to get through in one Saturday."

"No, silly, I have all week to do this. As long as today we get my main things to your flat then I'll be happy."

"Is this the Carpenters?" He asked, distracted by the volume of the music.

"It is indeed, I forgot I had it so put the CD on. It's sort of therapeutic doing this you know," she said, taping up another box. "When I sold the house I just packed everything and moved it from one place to another. It's good to just clear out now."

She pushed herself up from the floor, "God, that's bad for my knees." She bent to pick the box up and groaned when she stood, "And my back."

Charles got up from the sofa, taking the box from her, "Which pile is this one for?"

"Your place, see, I labelled it." He glanced to where she'd scribbled _CC_ on the lid of the box. "Are you alright?" She said, tilting her head to one side to watch him, slipping her glasses off.

"Yeah, sorry."

She smiled. "I'm not too scary to live with you know."

He shook his head, "I am."

She laughed, "Well, we'll see how I go shall we." She kissed his cheek before going to pack another box.

* * *

Charles stood in his lounge staring at the piles of boxes surrounding him – _CC, CC, CC_ on the top of every one. How could a person have so much stuff?

"Where are we going to sit?" He called out.

"What?" She shouted back from the bedroom.

"I said," he shouted again, but then she was walking in and he softened his voice, "where are we going to sit?"

She glanced at the sofa laden with her clothes. "Oh dear, they'll be gone before tonight. I do have wardrobe space?"

"Well, yes. I emptied the one in the spare room and there's a few drawers free in my room… I'll show you." He clambered over the boxes, and she followed, doing her best to ignore the 'my room' comment. In time they'd get used to this, it was just transition.

"Here," he opened three drawers up. "Will that be okay?"

"Sure," she was glancing around the room, the space where his bed had been had left a lighter patch on the carpet, the dark curtains shrouded the room in a gloomy, dusty light – how had she never noticed that before? She was probably more focussed on other things than the shade of his curtains.

"What's wrong?" He asked, feeling self-conscious.

"Nothing, just…" she was at the bedroom window, pulling back the curtains, lifting the blind. "It's spring out here Charles, almost summer, if there were lighter curtains the room might feel…" She turned back to look at him, dropping the curtains. "I'm sorry. I've just been terribly rude."

"No, that's fine, I mean it's your place too now so I suppose re-decorating…" he shrugged. "You can change them if you like, I don't mind."

"Are you sure? I have some at home that might fit." She was biting on her lip as she tried to mentally measure the width, she knew she had cream ones, and a matching bedspread and then the room would be bright and welcoming.

There was a crash downstairs and they both jumped, "Bloody builders!" He complained. "They're only fitting bookshelves, they better not have scratched the wall."

"You go, I'm fine here, I'll carry on unpacking and then when you come back there may be space for you to sit."

"I don't want to leave it all to you."

"Really, I'm fine. I'll drive back one last time for today and get a few more things and then focus on sorting what's here."

Another crash downstairs and he grimaced.

"Go, it's fine, I'm fine."

If she were honest she was glad to be rid of him, he'd been rather muted all day – he'd lived alone for a very long time so she could understand his nerves. She figured it better to just leave him be and hope he'd come out of it. She'd try to make him something good for dinner and make up for not seeing him for several nights. How odd it was that in just a few months she'd gone from doing her best to resist her feelings for him to now letting them wash over her, letting them grow and flourish.

An hour later she'd made another trip to her own flat, it was looking sparse but she felt no qualms about leaving it – as much as she'd enjoyed having her own space and finding her independence she felt more excited about the next step.

On the drive back she called into the coffee shop Charles had taken her to the previous Sunday and bought sandwiches and cake and taken them back with her.

It meant the builders were grateful and agreed to fetch her bed over before they finished for the day and she took Charles' sandwich into what was now the café area of the shop. He was fiddling with the new coffee machine, reading the instructions and focussing intently on which buttons to press. He looked rather endearing with his glasses slipping down his nose.

"Hey," she said, leaning against the counter. "I brought you some lunch." She placed the sandwich in front of him. "Your favourite."

"Thanks." He replied, hardly looking up. "Cheese and onion?"

"Of course. You and the machine getting on well?"

"Sort of."

"George has agreed to use his van and fetch over the bed."

"That's nice of him."

"Otherwise we won't have anything to sleep on."

"The floor." He said, pressing the grind button and smiling when it did what he wanted. "Gotcha!"

"I'm going to finish unpacking then."

"Al-right…." he murmured, opening the top of the machine.

"Well, you two play nice."

* * *

Standing in the middle of what he now regarded as his 'new shop' Charles actually felt a tingle of pride. It looked good. Clean lines yet still cosy. Organised and modern but still welcoming. George had done a good job and he really didn't resent paying him for the extra days here and there to get it done right.

Before him stood row upon row of empty shelves… and box upon box of books ready to be organised. He clapped his hands together. The builders were gone and now it was all his. All he needed was to advertise for a shop assistant – just for a few days at first to see how he got on, if custom increased, if the coffee shop proved popular. He was dying to try out his Lemon Cake on the customers! Just coffee and cake at first, maybe scones, and then he'd see how things went.

Yes, he was excited about it all.

He turned towards where his old radio was on top of the counter and found Elsie staring at him holding a picture.

"Hi," he said. "Did the bed fit okay?"

"Yes, it's fine, I've changed the curtains and done the bedding. I was hanging some clothes up and searching for somewhere to stack jumpers and I found this laid on the top shelf of the wardrobe."

She turned the frame for him to see and he felt his cheeks redden and quickly brushed a hand through his hair, "Yes, I forgot I'd put that up there."

"This is from our holiday, right?"

"It is, I had it printed when we got back. The day you sent me that email."

"Oh…"

"And I didn't know what to do with it, so I put it up there."

She stepped towards him, "And, can I come out of the wardrobe now?"

He smiled, "Yes, I think so."

"Good." She handed him the picture, "Though maybe we should print one of us together, the one from Richard's party perhaps, it would seem odd to have just me. We can use the frame."

"Nonsense, this one can go on my bedside table."

She was about to lean in and kiss him when he strode past her, putting the picture down on the counter. "Going to get my radio set up and start organising these books." He said.

"Okay, it's after four you know."

"I know, time enough, it's Saturday."

"I'm going to make something for dinner, my first night here, I thought it might be nice."

There was a scratching sound as he fiddled with the dial on the radio and she went over and placed her hand over his, gently moving it until the sound of Radio 4 filled the room.

"Thanks."

"You can get a digital radio you know, in fact if you want we could use your ipad, fit speakers up stairs and down and then you can have relaxing music in the background when you want to create an ambience – book group nights, talks, things like that."

"I might…" He had returned to his books, beginning to take out piles of them and place them in stacks on the floor.

"Well, I've almost finished up there for today so then I'll run to M&amp;S and pick something up. Any requests?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay." With a slightly heavier heart than she'd started the day with she headed back upstairs, hoping his moping mood would improve soon enough.

Charles had just about got the first shelf sorted when the bell atop of the shop door rang and Thomas came in.

"Well Charlie boy, look at this fancy place!" He chimed.

"Now's not a great time Thomas," Charles pointed out as the younger man strode into the shop.

"Hey, this is coming together, you'll be open next week won't you?"

"Should be, aiming to be."

"In all honesty it looks great mate, a real improvement."

Charles was genuinely surprised by his positivity. "Thanks, do you need money?"

"Just being nice."

"You're in a strangely nice mood. What's happened…?"

Thomas was about to respond when Elsie came down the stairs carrying two black bags of clothes and Charles rushed to take them from her as she banged into the wall.

"Sorry, these won't fit anywhere so I'm going to take them back to my place for the moment."

"Well, hello. Finally." Thomas said, coming across to her. "So you're the famous Elsie."

"I suppose I must be."

"I've got to thank you for rescuing my man here, I was concerned he was going to end up spending a lifetime alone in doom and gloom, dribbling onto a brown tweed jacket whilst watching Countdown."

Elsie laughed, "What a disturbing image."

Thomas held his hand out and Elsie reached to shake it, "In fact screw that, come here, lets hug it out."

She liked his exuberance and returned the hug with as much diva theatrics as he gave it.

They were both laughing and Charles watched them in an oddly detached way.

"Look at him," he said pointing to Charles. "He's a changed man."

"Oh, shut up." Charles said, hoisting the bags up again. "Where do you want these?"

"That's what sex can do for you!"

"Thomas!" Charles exclaimed dropping the bags again but Elsie was laughing.

"I think we're going to get on."

"I think so too," Thomas said, looping his arm through hers and they both stared at Charles. "Now you have two people to annoy you with their modern pop ways!" Thomas teased.

"Elsie, meet my friend Thomas – he shows up every now and then for food and to fill me with horror at his love life."

"Ah well, turn up in that department." Thomas boasted.

"Don't tell me there's already a new one," Charles complained.

"Not new at all. Jimmy – oh Jimmy of the tight ass and killer eyes – has relented and I am back where I belong i.e. His bed."

"Lord above, didn't this kid break your heart?"

"Who's Jimmy?" Elsie asked.

"Some boy leading him on," Charles moaned.

"I'll have you know he's my boyfriend now, look," he whipped his phone out to show Elsie a picture.

"Oh he's very attractive." She admitted. "Maybe we could have you round for dinner one night."

"Not tonight!" Charles snapped before Thomas could speak.

"Oh but mate…"

"Not tonight Thomas. She's only just moved in."

"And not even completed that." She added softly.

"Well, it's nice to know you're here should things get excitable on radio 4 and he have a heart attack."

"Is this pick on Charles day! Come on Thomas out, it's getting late and I want to finish this."

"He's always this charming to me you know, it's a wonder I still bother with the old coot."

Charles caught his breath, slamming books onto a shelf and Elsie jumped at the action. Thomas didn't appear to notice and she pressed her hand to his back as she saw him out.

"I wonder if you might help me put these in my car," she said indicating the bags.

"But of course." He lifted them up.

"I won't be long Charles." She said, but he already had his back to them and had returned to his task.

"So very nice to meet you at last," Elsie said as she walked with Thomas to her car. "And you really must come over, Charles has agreed to move his reading chair so we can have a dining table. You could be our first guests."

"That's nice of you," he dropped the bags of clothes into the boot of her car. "Not many offers of that kind come my way – I'm a bit loud you see, got a bit of a bitchy reputation at work!" he grinned.

"Never!" She exclaimed, acting scandalized.

"I'm not sure why Charlie puts up with me."

"Because you're nice to him." She squeezed the younger man's arm. "I'll call you, once he's happy his books are right. Maybe one night next week?"

"Would be lovely. Nice to meet you Elsie." He said, as she got into her car.

"And you."

Thomas lit up another cigarette and headed on his way. Saturday night – date night!

* * *

Dinner was a bit of a let down. First she'd misunderstood the instructions on the box, then she'd had trouble working Charles' oven and as a result things had taken rather a long time to cook – the chicken was dry, the roasted vegetables a bit mushy.

"This is the worst meal I've cooked in years." She said as they sat at the small table in his kitchen. "We'd have been better off ordering take-away."

"It's alright. I'm not too hungry." He refilled his wine glass – already on his third she noted – and drank a sip between every forkful of food.

"You want to watch a movie maybe?" She asked. "I'd suggest going to the pub but I'm so tired and achy and feel a bit grubby."

He thought she looked great, nothing but casual jeans and a jumper all day, her hair pinned on top of her head like she wore it on holiday – relaxed and easy. "No, a movie's fine. I want to try and do another hour downstairs first anyhow."

_It's already 20:13_, she thought glancing at the clock on the oven.

"Okay, well, I might take a bath if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't. It's yours too."

She nodded, pushing her plate aside. She didn't really feel so hungry.

"And tomorrow? Do you want to do something tomorrow?"

He shrugged, finishing up his meal. "You wanted the reading room emptied so I guess I'll do that. I've sorted through the majority of mum's stuff from the attic now so there's space up there."

"You don't have to rush," she said gently. "I'm not expecting it done immediately. I don't expect anything. There's still my flat to keep things in anyhow, whilst Anna's using it."

"Did you discuss that with her?"

"I did. Once she's back up here she's going to look for something for herself, just a small one bed thing but then I'll relinquish my lease and empty it."

"Alright."

His chair scraped along the floor as he pushed back from the table, "Better get on."

"Enjoy." She stared at their dishes on the table, she'd be clearing those first then. He'd taken his wine with him, she noted as she wearily filled the sink.

* * *

By the time Elsie had forced herself to get out of the bath and changed into her nightwear it was after ten and she was beginning to wonder what Charles was up to. In fact frustration was replacing worry.

Turning off the light in the en-suite she headed into what was now their bedroom and found he was already in bed, propped up on his pillows reading.

"You look comfy," she said, surprised to see him.

"I am."

His lack of conversation wasn't exactly surprising considering how he'd been all day. She couldn't escape the feeling she'd done something wrong, upset him in some way, or – even more worryingly – that he actually didn't want this at all. That he'd made a snap decision the other night in bed and now regretted it and didn't know how to say so.

She stood by the wardrobe with her clothes hanging over her arm searching for a spare hanger.

"Something wrong?"

"No, just looking for a hanger… I'll just double up," she said, draping her jeans over another pair of trousers.

"I think I have spares somewhere."

"That's fine, I can look tomorrow. Going to get some water." She said, heading into the kitchen.

When she returned he'd turned his lamp off and was lying down, his eyes closed. 'Great', she thought, 'so much for making up for those nights apart.'

She climbed in beside him, for a few seconds waiting for him to say something, or touch her, but when he didn't she turned off the lamp beside her sending the room into black.

Try as she might she couldn't get comfy – and it was her bed! She plumped her pillows and tugged on the sheets then lay and listened to his breathing, to the ticking of the clock, to the creaks the building made, to the sounds of distant Saturday night parties coming to an end, people trailing home. Sometimes it was easy to forget they were in the centre of town.

"Have you changed your mind?" She said, her voice cracking through the darkness.

"What?" He mumbled into his pillow, head throbbing, ears buzzing.

"I said, have you changed your mind?"

He lifted his chin from the pillow, "About what?"

She made a hollow sound in her throat – not a laugh, not a groan, caught in-between. "My moving in." She stared up at the ceiling. "Italy. Us."

He remained silent, staring across the floor to where her shoes were lined up waiting to find a place to be stored.

"Charles." She prompted, frustration creeping in.

"Why would I?"

"Because you've hardly spoken to me all day. Because you've been snappy and distant and because you're lying next to me now like I'm a stranger." She swallowed uncomfortably, she had that tight feeling in her throat that meant she was going to cry and she really didn't want to, she'd cried enough with Joe, she didn't want it with Charles. "Because it's a bit bloody late if you have changed your mind Charles, now I'm here."

"I haven't." He mumbled.

She rolled her eyes, fidgeted with the sheets, "How overwhelmingly convincing you sound."

"What do you want me to say?"

"What I want is for you to explain to me what's going on, I feel like I'm in the dark here. Like I've done something to upset you or make you angry and I don't know what that is." She stared at the back of his head, perfectly still, reached to touch his shoulder. "Charles. Talk to me. This isn't exactly how I imagined spending my first night in my new home."

It wasn't how he'd imagined it neither, a far way from that.

"Charles!" She snapped, frustrated. "Honestly, imagine if this were the other way around and you'd moved into my place today only to have the person you're meant to be living with speak less than fifty words to you all day."

She was right. He was being cruel and there was no need, it wasn't her fault, it was just that what he'd heard had somehow rooted around in his brain for days now. Bedding in and filling him with doubt.

With effort he finally turned and flopped onto his back beside her, his arms folded atop of the sheets. It was much lighter in the room with her change of curtains and bed sheets and he liked it, it was like being in a new room, not the one he'd slept in alone for far too many years.

"So, have I upset you? Because I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out how or why. Is it because I came in and started making changes? Because you assured me it was okay otherwise I would never have…"

"No of course it's not that, I like what you've done."

She licked her lips, turned in the bed to lie on her side and look at him. "That means it's something though, tell me," she reached to rest a hand on his chest. "You were the one who said we need to talk things through, share everything. And I've been trying so very hard to be more open with you Charles, after last time…"

He closed his eyes momentarily, he knew that, he knew how hard she was trying, how they'd both been trying, to share, to communicate.

"Something was said…at the Prom."

Her brow furrowed, "The prom?"

"Yeah." He sighed, "It's silly, childish, just like students having a gossip about their teachers only it was two teachers, two women."

She shifted again, leaning on her elbow in order to watch him better. "I don't understand. What was said?"

"They were mocking Spratt, you know, and I overheard. Only I got dragged into it – they joked he looks sixty and he's got no life because he's at work at the crack of dawn and that you are too, but for some reason that's fine because you're nice."

She frowned, "I still don't understand…"

"They questioned what you were doing with an old man like me… somebody who was just as dull as Spratt." His words rushed out and for a moment she lay still as she absorbed it, then she groaned in disappointment and slid her hand farther over his chest, forcing him to unfold his arms.

"Oh Charles…"

"They said Joe was 'hot'."

At that she bit back a sharp breath. What did he have to do with anything?

"Clearly I'm not and perhaps I don't even know what to do in the bedroom!" He tried to laugh but it didn't come, he'd let this stew in him for too many days now and it had grown and festered. He should have told her immediately so they would have laughed about it and moved on.

"Well, it shows how stupid they are doesn't it." She lifted herself up, moving on top of his body, forcing him to hold her, to look at her. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. It was childish and cruel. But I didn't say it; Charles, and you've been horrid to me all day. I felt like I was intruding."

"It fed into my insecurities I suppose. That I'm not good enough, that you'll get bored."

"We've been through this."

"Yes, we have. But you grow in confidence and independence every day. You're blossoming Elsie, you seem so much freer and happier and comfortable." His hands were on her upper arms, her bare skin warm and soft, despite himself he couldn't help but touch her, hold her.

"And you don't think that has anything to do with the love and support I'm getting from you?"

He shrugged, "Or because you're free of him. And moving farther and farther away from who you were with him."

She swallowed, her body sagging against his. She could feel his foot rubbing hers, the sensation of his legs against her thighs.

"Charles. I'm with you because I choose to be. And yes maybe I am more relaxed and more confident but that's down to how confident I feel that whatever I do, whatever mistakes I might make – and believe me I will, I'll come home and you'll be there. And I've never had that grounding before."

He reached to touch her hair, "I don't want you to look back and think you escaped an unhappy marriage only to settle with some dull old fool who knows nothing about relationships or making women happy."

"I'm not listening if you're going to put yourself down because you're being ridiculous."

"I don't mean to. I'm not usually an insecure man, I figure things are what they are. But the reality is…" He looked squarely at her, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "The reality is Els if you were seeing a counsellor right now they'd tell you to back the hell away from a new relationship until you were absolutely certain that you were settled. That you had dealt with all you've got to deal with."

"Are you trying to break up with me? Because it's a bit of a fucked up moment to do it." She could feel her cheeks reddening, her chest too.

"No, I'm not doing that."

"Then I'm confused. How has this all come from some silly women gossiping about things they don't know anything about? Charles," she held his face, "they don't know what's between us. They don't know me, only the work version of me, you've seen all sides now and you're still here and I'm overwhelmed by that. By you. They don't know us. They don't know how I feel."

"I don't know how you bloody well feel!" He snapped.

For a second they were silent and then he moaned in frustration and regret as she rolled off of him and turned on her side, her body curling forward.

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his face.

"You said you'd be patient."

"I think I have been, haven't I?"

"Oh, so that's it. Time's up Elsie, make your decision now." She snapped over her shoulder.

"I'm not saying that."

He couldn't quite decide if he was being ridiculous or not. She showed him a hundred different ways how much she cared for him, how close they were now, how settled. Just because she couldn't utter one lousy word it didn't change things, not really.

Elsie's nails were digging into the palm of her hand; it would be so easy to just give him what he needed to hear. But she was determined that when she did finally make that last step, that commitment to him, she would be without doubt. She was getting there, but something still niggled, something still held her back. And why couldn't he just wait? Why couldn't he have left it? Just for a while longer.

"If you were unhappy with how things were going you should have said before I packed up all my bloody belongings and shipped my life over here to join with yours." She twisted her neck, craning to look at him, "Because that's what I thought we were trying to do, build a life together. With all the mess and stress and loveliness that it entails."

"Elspeth," he breathed, drawn to her, his arms around her, tugging her body back against his. "That is what I want. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

She covered his hands with hers, her heart thumping in her chest, uncertainty present but beginning to ebb. "I just want to…" She swallowed, how could she possibly make him understand the myriad of emotions she was still going through, the questions she had, the doubts all intermingled with the joy of slowly discovering this with him. She didn't realise it could be this way or that she'd ever be part of a relationship like this.

Squirming in his arms she turned, and he kissed her forehead, held her tight as she moved to rest her head on his chest.

"Joe rarely accompanied me to work things." She said, determined to share something with him, to share more of her past, to help him understand.

"The first time was a Christmas party, my second full year of teaching. And it was a wonderful night I thought, the meal was good not great, the music was fun, I was circulating and chatting and getting know more people. Then a colleague at the time, someone who had been my mentor during my first year there, pointed out how Joe was having a good time – and he was, drunk, twirling some woman around the dance floor, hands everywhere. And I felt so embarrassed. So angry. When we got home I didn't confront him about it – he was so drunk he fell asleep on the sofa and I left him there. But in the morning I did, because yes I was jealous, he was my husband and I felt jealous and embarrassed by him. And somehow…" she laughed hollowly at herself, no smile on her face, "Somehow it became me who'd done it. He was jealous of me because I was flirting with every man in that room, touching their arms or laughing at their jokes."

She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of Charles, feeling his hand warm and heavy on her back. "Anna had gone to a friend's to sleep, we were alone in the house and suddenly he got angry, I mean not just arguing angry but really angry and he was holding my wrists and pressing me back against the kitchen wall and telling me that I belonged to him. That no man had the right to look at me or touch me because I was his, and that he loved me so much it drove him crazy to think of another man seeing me. That was love. His hand rough up my skirt, bending me over the kitchen table."

She could feel Charles' heart thudding beneath her cheek, his barely concealed disgust and anger.

"And I remember I kept saying no, because I knew it was wrong, I knew I didn't want that – I turned my feelings off because he wasn't going to stop. And then," she breathed deeply, relief, "and then a car pulled up on the drive and Anna was getting out. This seven year old girl running inside and shouting for mummy because it was her first night away from home and she'd missed me and I had to be normal and calm. I picked her up and was hugging her because she was there and it hadn't happened."

For a long time they lay silent, not moving, hardly breathing, then he kissed her head and whispered, "I wish I could take that all away from you."

She twisted over, leaning on his chest again to look at him, "But you are. Most of the time I don't think of it or remember anything about it, because I choose not to. It's the past now and I'm a different person, or learning to be. And I don't want you to think my life was always like that because it wasn't. Most of the time we were fine, happy I suppose, a little family getting along. But as time went on those happy moments seemed harder to come by."

Again they were silent, he could feel her breath on his skin, his fingers tracing invisible lines up and down her back.

"I don't need you to rescue me or be some kind of saviour." She finally said.

"I didn't mean to be that."

"I know. I didn't mean it in a horrible way, I mean I don't want you to feel you have to try and erase what happened before."

She looked up at him, those kind, warm eyes, "Being with you these past ten months has made me realise that life doesn't have to be a series of regrets or guilt. That I don't have to suppress who I am to get you to accept me, or to make for an easier life by being what somebody else wants me to be. And I don't want you to feel that way either – I'm with you because of who you are Charles, damn what anyone else thinks! I don't want to argue with you because some silly gossips think it funny to insult others, we'll have arguments over much more important things I'm sure – like wet towels being left in the bathroom and who does the ironing."

He appreciated her attempt at levity and tangled his fingers into her, "I don't mind ironing."

"Good, because I hate it." She smiled, rubbing his chest with her fingertips. "As much as I don't want to try and fit somebody's expectations of what they want from me, I don't expect that from you either. I wouldn't try to change you, Charles. I didn't go into this thinking 'he's okay, I could change this about him!' We're both too old for those kind of games. I'm with you because of who you are, exactly as you are. I'm with you because at the bottom of it all we get on!" She emphasised the last three words.

He smiled, closed his eyes in agreement. That was it, over the years he'd found it so difficult just to find somebody he could just get on with – and then all the rest was some kind of blissful bonus.

"So no more talk of not being good enough for me, or measuring yourself against somebody else's judgements. Nobody has the right to make that kind of judgement."

"Perhaps you…"

"Perhaps... But then as I've spent all day squashing my stuff into your flat and I'm lying here with you pouring my heart out in the early hours of the morning I'd say there's a pretty fair chance I've made my decision."

He slid his hand up into her hair. "I do love you."

"I know you do." She took hold of his hand, kissed his palm, "I know." And pressed her mouth to his. "Feeling better?"

"Feeling foolish, for letting something so ridiculous get to me in such a way."

"Maybe we needed to have this chat."

"I suppose so."

"So," she breathed deeply. "Either we go to sleep now because it's very late, or we enjoy our first night together in 'our' home."

"I vote for the latter."

"Me too," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

For a long time they lay like that, with her body on top of his, kissing slowly, tenderly. She shuddered against him as his fingers slid down the side of her ribcage and he smiled, she was always extra sensitive there – an inch the other direction and she didn't flinch, but that exact spot. He did it again on purpose and she pulled back from the kiss giggling.

"Don't…"

"Sorry," he said teasingly.

"I'm sure you are. If you misbehave I won't play."

He was chuckling as she pushed herself up, and he watched mesmerised as she lifted her nightgown over her head and threw it to the floor. He slid his hands up over her stomach, cupping her breasts, sliding his fingertips under the curve of each one.

She was already grinding against him, teasing yet gentle with it. Until he sat forward, his arms circling her, as his mouth sought hers again.

They turned, Charles lying her down, her eager hands pushing down his pyjama bottoms.

"I'm so glad you're here," he whispered by her mouth, his tongue caressing hers.

"So am I," she mumbled in between kisses, lifting her hips forward, wrapping her body around his.

He gasped in pleasure by her ear, breathless, delicate and loving in his movements. "I never thought I'd be this lucky."

She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her, "I'm the lucky one," she says with absolute certainty.

* * *

_Well, I hope that solved at least one problem! Lots more Chelsie fun to come, I hope you continue to enjoy it. Thank you as always for all the reviews and reblogs, and especially for the messages I've received this week - I'm overwhelmed by the support!_


	20. Chapter 20

_As always thank you SO much for your support. I can't believe we're twenty chapters in!_

_Just a few scenes of domestic living - past and present - a contrast of Elsie's life then and now._

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**Domestic Scenes**

**Two and half years ago**

It wasn't exactly how Elsie had planned for things to go. In fact it was so far removed from her expectations she was having trouble understanding it.

She'd been on her own for three months now, rattling around the large family home, starting to clear things into boxes. Every now and then she'd find more of Joe's stuff and have an odd few minutes of staring at it before making a conscious decision and boxing it all up, storing them in the garage.

She didn't really mind being in the house alone, she could hardly claim she was lonely – she'd spent years living with a man and had felt more lonely at times with him than she did on her own.

Therefore it was a shock one Saturday night to find him unlocking the front door and walking into the kitchen whilst she was making bread, as normally as if they were still together.

"You made me jump," She said, turning from the mixture in the bowl to face him.

"Sorry," he threw his keys onto the kitchen table. "It'd seem weird to knock."

She supposed he was right; they'd lived there for over fifteen years.

"How are you?" She asked returning to her kneading.

"Not bad. You know." He opened the fridge door, found a half drunk bottle of wine and poured himself a glass and one for Elsie too.

"What are you doing here on a Saturday night?"

She heard him swallow the wine, push a chair back at the kitchen table and sit down. "Nothing much happening. Thought I'd pick up that stuff you texted me about."

She wondered what his new home looked like, what it was like to be living on the farm after years of renting out the house, what Sarah was like, what he was doing here.

"It's in the garage." She said. "All ready."

He sucked wine between his teeth, "Great."

She scraped the mixture from her fingers, covered the bowl in cling film and a damp towel and went to wash her hands.

"Why are you doing that now?" He asked.

"I want fresh bread tomorrow, Beryl's coming over for lunch."

He rolled his eyes – he never did like that woman, interfering and nosy.

"Do you ever think…" he said, watching as she washed her hands, filled the sink to do the dishes.

"Do I ever think what?"

"Did you ever think we'd get to this civilised point?"

"I am civilised." She said pointedly. "And I should be the one who isn't, after all, you walked out on me."

"Maybe a mistake."

She looked sharply over her shoulder at him, her hands stilling in the hot water. "Why?"

He shrugged, "Because you're you and… well, Sarah's not."

She huffed, "Bit late for that now. Thank you for leaving the house out of procedures by the way. I really don't want to sell it yet."

He was on his feet, she could hear him behind her, finishing his wine, bringing his glass and laying it on the counter beside the sink.

"I understand. It has good memories."

She felt him touch her back – thought it a mistake at first – but then his fingers slid down her spine and she knew it wasn't.

"Joe," she warned, "Not a good idea."

"None of my ideas are."

She felt him tug at the tie on the back of her dress, loosen it and then let it fall open.

"Joe…" she warned again. But his body was pressing against her back, his lips placing delicate kisses on her neck and it had been so very long since anyone had touched her. Since he had. She remembered his smell. The weight of his hands on her body.

She twisted her head to look at him, which had been a mistake, because then he was kissing her, gently at first and then his tongue in her mouth. His hands were around her waist, pulling her back from the sink and turning her in his arms and she moaned as the roughness of his jacket brushed against her breasts.

Within minutes she found they were in their bedroom – her bedroom – and he had stripped her naked. Part of her was screaming this couldn't be happening, another part glad to have him back, no longer alone, no longer the 'dumped' one. Part of her was confused and scared.

She sat back on the bed, watched as he removed his own clothes, he had that dark intensity to his eyes that came when they had sex and her mind was a blur of old feelings and new freedoms. It was too late to stop it now.

When he had her in bed and was pounding into her she realised what a mistake she'd made. She should have changed the locks. She should have told him to leave. She should have pushed him away when he'd touched her.

Oh but god hindsight is a great thing.

He had her hands held above her head, his elbows in the pillow by her face and she'd always hated it when he did that, holding her down, trapping her. His mouth on her breasts, and it was hard and fierce as he fucked her. There was no other way to describe it, because that's exactly what he was doing. And then the old lines crept in, his whispered voice by her ear, 'You're mine, nobody can do this to you like I can.'

And she was biting her lip as he commanded her body to obey his will. She hated her body at that moment – it seemed separate from her heart, from her soul, and was responding to him, to what he knew exactly how to do to get her to respond. Because then she was climaxing in a horrible, tight way and shouting out as he smiled, bit on her neck and came inside her.

"Just like old times," he said, breathing heavily.

He pulled out, sat up and looked down at her and she squashed her knees together, her arm over her breasts. "Never gets boring." He said and got up going into the bathroom.

Her only thought was how to get him to leave.

"How could I have been so stupid?" She cried on Beryl's shoulder the following day. Great hiccupping cries as Beryl held and soothed her friend, rubbing her back. "It was just to prove he still could, to brand me as his… and this disgusting mark on my neck."

"We can cover that, I have a trick for taking down the swelling. Don't worry."

"He just used me. And I let him. Why am I so stupid, so bloody weak?"

"You're not." Beryl pushed Elsie back from her, took hold of her hands and squeezed them tight. "You listen to me, you are not weak. Now, we're going to get those damned locks changed so he doesn't come in here unless you're with someone. You hear me?"

Elsie nodded, her eyes bleared with tears.

"I don't want to be here anymore."

"Then sell it. Call an estate agent tomorrow and get the damned thing on the market, come stay with me if need be. Get rid of it. Get rid of him."

* * *

Charles had decided he was going to have to alter his sleeping patterns. Now he and Elsie lived together he'd found his old routine no longer worked. On weeknights she liked to be in bed by eleven, in fact after the ten o'clock news she was starting to yawn. She was usually up at six, showering, dressing, then off. He was trying to convince her to eat breakfast before she left but that mostly required him being up and preparing it – she was happy to call at some take-away coffee place and eat a muffin or bagel at her desk, he wasn't sold on the health benefits of that.

But then he liked to sleep in. The shop didn't open until nine and he was only upstairs so it hardly required him to rush and he never had many customers before 10:30 anyhow. So usually he'd stay up late, watch an old film or read until his eyes were sore. He'd always liked being up when it seemed everyone else was sleeping – it seemed the world was still around him.

For the first four days he'd lay in bed wide-awake as she slept and in the mornings struggled to raise his head from the pillow, as she'd been getting ready. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness, then felt her kiss his forehead and go.

This morning was different (twelve days into their new arrangement). His body was readjusting to the pattern and he woke even before her alarm went off, 5:30 and the sun peeking in already. He loved the summer months for that fact – no more dark mornings and dark nights. She was curled on her side beside him, her back to him, and he turned, sliding his hand over her hip, down to rest on her stomach.

She mumbled something and he moved closer, kissing the back of her neck, whispering, "Good morning" by her ear.

"Mmm, not time to get up yet." She mumbled again but turned, flopping onto her back, her eyes still closed.

Her hair was mussed on the pillow and she looked incredibly soft and warm and inviting. He kissed her forehead, her hairline, her cheeks, until she was twisting her head and nudging his nose with hers as she sought his mouth.

She felt his hands on her, eager yet tender, the rustling of sheets pushed aside as his mouth travelled over her breasts, her stomach, and down further until she gasped, her fingers curling into his hair.

"Charles…" she breathed, "we don't have time."

He kissed her stomach, her belly button, "Your alarm hasn't gone off yet, plenty of time."

And who was she to argue, he was already between her thighs, his wonderful mouth doing wonderful things to her body. Her mind was spinning, still clouded with sleep and pleasure edging in – sweet and delicious.

She tugged on his hair with one hand, her other squeezing his shoulder. One leg over his arm, lifting her, carrying her. "Oh god," she breathed, slowly exhaling, her throat dry in the early-morning.

Such blissful sensations as his tongue danced over her, stimulating, tasting, testing – driving her closer and closer to the joyous inevitability of release.

He was certainly in no rush, his fingers teasing until she was rising up off the bed seeking his touch. "Charles… oh honey… yes…"

He loved the sound of her voice in those moments, the way she mumbled and murmured and gasped his name in a hundred different ways. The way her endearments would spill forth without the usual filter of respectability.

A slow, heady rush of heat filled her and he felt her thighs tighten momentarily against him before falling limp, the fingers in his hair stretching, her entire body melting before him.

He made his way slowly back up the bed, kissing up her legs, tickling behind her knees, his mouth over her hip, across her stomach, the tender point on her ribcage where she always shuddered against him, suckling on her breasts, adorning her chest with kisses, affectionately licking up her neck – until he reached her mouth.

"Good morning," he whispered. Her eyes were closed and there was a delicious smile playing across her mouth.

"Mmm, good morning." She slid her hands up his arms, over his biceps, gripping his shoulders – delectable man. "Good morning, good morning."

He chuckled, kissing her forehead, pushing her hair back from her face.

"That was even better than when you make me breakfast."

"Ah well, I'm going to do that too now."

They were interrupted by the alarm on her phone bleeping, she reached over and touched the screen and it stopped.

"You're being awfully nice to me this morning."

"I am always…" he kissed her mouth, "…awfully nice…" kissed her nose, "…to you."

She was giggling, her fingertips on his neck. "That is true. Awfully, awfully nice."

She stretched beneath him, sighing, "I wish we could spend all day here."

"Maybe Sunday?" He said, snuggling her neck again.

"I thought we were having lunch with Richard and Isobel."

"So we are, and I must go to church, I haven't been for three weeks."

She bit her lip, she didn't particularly want to join him – getting up early to sit in an old draughty building wasn't her idea of fun – but then again she sort of liked the idea of joining him there, seeing more of his life and acquaintances.

"I have to go shower," she said reluctantly. "Come talk to me?"

He rolled from her, lying back and watching as she sat, her hair falling against her bare back, the freckles that decorated her skin – just when he thought he knew and had mapped every inch of her body he noticed something new.

There was a time Elsie would never have considered walking around naked, but with age came a new kind of release and freedom and now she didn't particularly care what he saw. If he didn't like it tough – and besides, she had a feeling he liked it very much.

She opened the wardrobe, took out a skirt, top and jacket and hung them ready.

In the bathroom she showered and he washed his face, chatting to her as he shaved.

"So, you have your book group this afternoon?" She asked.

"Yep. First time back with the old dears, we'll see what they make of the changes."

"Are you going to make them all lattes on your fancy new machine?"

"I'm certainly going to give it a try. And I'm making an apple pie this morning, in fact I want to go and get fresh cream before I open up."

She switched off the water and opened the shower door, "I feel rather jealous. If I come home and find you in bed with one of the purple rinse brigade I'll know your apple pie went well."

"As if, I'm rather occupied with a certain other lady." He rinsed his face and she stood behind him, watching him in the mirror, a towel around her.

"I should hope so." She kissed his shoulder and went to dress.

In the kitchen Charles made a pot of tea and sliced the apricot and walnut bread to toast – she'd made it at the weekend and it was sublime. Completely sublime.

They sat together at the kitchen table eating.

"I'll cook tonight," she offered, "you'll still be with your group I should think when I get in. Oh, and any luck booking that folk player?"

He screwed his face up, "You really think it a good idea?"

"I'm telling you it is, they had one at that coffee shop on the other side of town one evening and made a small fortune in cake sales – Beryl bakes for them and she told me she was inundated with orders after it for whole versions of the sliced stuff they'd sold that night."

"I'll try emailing again."

"I better go," she said getting up. She slung one bag over her shoulder, picked up the other bag of books from beneath the table and leant to kiss him. "Good bye Mr Carson, thank you for my exquisite start to the day."

He smiled, "Bye… Ms Hughes."

* * *

The problem with having such a wonderful start to the day was that little else could live up to it in quite the same way. And of course, she was distracted by thoughts of him.

At 9:30 she was invigilating an exam. In a hall with three hundred students, four other staff members and nothing but the sound of pens scribbling, heels tapping on the floor and the ticking clock.

She had a pile of papers sitting before her needing marking but she couldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the morning, and she'd get flashes of his mouth on her skin, his fingers on her body, and her stomach would tighten in response – a fleeting second of pleasure and she felt guilty for it.

But oh it was wonderful to feel this kind of guilt, for daydreaming about her man.

* * *

In the shop Charles found himself whistling along to the radio, opening letters, replying to emails, dealing with customers.

Every couple of hours he'd try another coffee out on his machine, he'd just about worked out how to successfully froth the milk and had a particular fondness for the hot chocolate – though Elsie had warned him no more than once a day, less if possible.

His pie was in the fridge ready to serve, he'd arranged the new area – comfy chairs and coffee tables – and awaited the old women who had frequented his shop for many years.

A new book. Nothing too scandalous.

Things were good. He couldn't recall a time when they'd been better.

* * *

"So, you're home this weekend?" Elsie asked, her phone tucked beneath her chin as she tried to continue the conversation and select carrots at the same time. "One second, I can't hear you." She bagged the carrots and dropped them into her trolley before finding a fairly quiet spot where she could talk properly.

"Sorry sweetheart," she said to Anna. "I'm listening now. So you're home this weekend?"

_"Yes, probably Friday night. What are you doing?"_

"Shopping. I want to make Charles steak pie for dinner."

_"Ooh, with that wonderful sauce you make?"_

She smiled, "Yes. With that. He hasn't tried it yet but he loves traditional flavours."

_"He'll love you even more."_

"Ha ha. What are you up to?"

_"Just packing up my room, kinda sad but kinda nice. I'm ready to move on."_

"I know."

_"You're still alright for the party next Saturday?"_

"Of course, I'm very excited. We've booked a hotel, about ten, maybe fifteen minutes drive from the venue." She paused, biting down on her bottom lip, "Have you heard from your father?"

_"Not for weeks. I don't know if he's coming. You still okay with that?"_ It had taken Anna a while to admit to her mother she'd invited him – partly out of loyalty, partly out of actually wanting her Dad to see what she'd achieved – and when she had Elsie had been quiet for a long time over the phone.

"Yes. As long as I don't have to sit with him, as long as we don't."

"_You won't. I've put him and Sarah at the total opposite side of the room, and it's a ball room mum, not like a restaurant or something."_

Elsie closed her eyes momentarily and nodded; hopeful his silence meant he wouldn't even show up.

"So, you want to come for dinner Saturday night then? I can do Indian food."

_"I'm there, do those little Samosa things though, won't you?"_

"I will," she smiled.

_"And lemon sorbet?"_

Her smile widened, despite her age Anna would always be her little girl.

"Yes darling, sorbet too."

_"Excellent. I'll get some wine. What does Charles like – I should get him something, it's his flat."_

"Er, our flat. You're sure you're okay sleeping in the apartment on your own?"

"I'll be fine mum. I'll see you Saturday."

_"Alright. Bye. Take care."_

The line went dead and Elsie stuffed it into her bag and glanced down to what was in her trolley; she'd need to go round again and get an entire new set of ingredients for Saturday night but she rather liked the fact that Anna was finally going to be visiting their home. It was important to her that she did. She'd know immediately how much Elsie had changed, in just a few weeks everything had changed.

* * *

Pushing open the door to the shop with her hip Elsie stepped inside, laden with shopping bags, her handbag over her arm and her car keys hanging from one finger.

"Hi," she smiled, seeing him behind his counter, the place she remembered him being when they first met, when she'd first laid eyes on him. And it felt so nice to come to him, to find him still there, solid and dependable and smiling at her in return.

"Hi, want some help?"

"I'm fine, you're serving." He was wrapping books up – the brown paper had been one of the things she'd insisted he kept. "They aren't heavy."

She moved closer to the desk, lowering her voice, "Going well?"

"Very well. Seven sales so far," he winked. "And I saved you a slice of apple pie."

"You're wonderful."

"Oh Mr Carson," one of the old ladies said approaching the desk.

"Mrs Stafford, this is Ms Hughes."

"Elsie," she insisted, doing her best to hold her hand out. "Very nice to meet you."

"And you, now Mr Carson, we were wondering if you could –,"

Elsie politely stepped away, disappearing around the side of the shop and through the door that led to the private stairs.

Pausing and thinking at the bottom she put the bags down, turned and re-entered the shop. This time she stepped behind the counter, next to him, stood on her tiptoes and stretched up to kiss his cheek.

He seemed surprised by the action and turned to look down at her, Mrs Stafford silenced.

"Two hours for dinner," she said gently, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. "Don't be late."

"I… er I won't." He stumbled, his face breaking into a sweet smile.

* * *

Elsie was sitting in her chair, a cup of tea by her side, her glasses on and marking essays by lamplight.

Charles lay out on the couch, sipping a sherry, watching Masterchef on television.

"All that bloody work for that tiny little thing." He complained, waving his glass at the screen, "I'd need about six to fill me."

"It is only a starter." She said, glancing at the screen.

"Maybe four then. And a full cup of that broth, not just a tablespoon's worth."

She sniggered, glancing over her glasses at him, "You do complain."

"Well, all this fancy stuff, can't beat the pie you made for dinner. That was exquisite."

"I thought you'd approve."

"Whole-heartedly. I mean look at this, that fish thing is meant to be the main course – it's just fish and sauce and he's spent seven hours preparing it."

"I think he said four."

"Seemed longer. And where are the potatoes, or green beans, chips for goodness sake?"

"It's disgusting." She finished scribbling a comment on the bottom of her last essay and slipped them into the manila wallet, sliding her glasses off. "Oh, my neck aches. I might take a bath, there's nothing interesting on is there?"

"Not really. If you're going in there I might watch the Snooker. You don't mind?"

She got up from the chair, collecting her things together and bending over to kiss his cheek. "Not at all."

"We're fitting in rather well Els, don't you think?" He said, tapping the remote control on his leg as he watched her pack her schoolbag.

"We are." She zipped her bag up. "Not had our first argument yet though."

"We did!"

"When?"

"Last Friday, we had a thing over who had left the oven on all evening."

"Oh Charles, that wasn't an argument."

"We had words."

"We had nothing. You wait until we have a real argument, name calling, door slamming."

"Don't slam the doors, they're new."

She chuckled, "I think I'll win." She headed into the main bathroom, turned on the taps and dribbled in some of the bath essence Anna had bought her for Mother's day.

When she returned Charles was sitting up on the couch, waiting for her. "What?" She asked.

"Let's have a bet."

"On what?"

"On who will win the first argument."

"Dangerous bet," she said folding the blanket he'd thrown over the back of the sofa. "What if neither of us will back down?"

"Darling, you know I will." He smiled, endearingly.

"Oh you will, will you…?" She laid the blanket neatly on the arm of the sofa. "I think you're saying that to catch me off guard and take all my money."

"Never."

"I know how good you are at games night."

"Yes but you have all this going on…" he said waving his arm at her.

"All what?"

"All this, you just have to saunter in front of me in one of those sexy dresses and I'll apologise."

She laughed again, leaning over him to kiss his mouth, "No bets. Because neither of us should win."

"Fair enough."

"Now, I'm going for my bath. If you open any wine bring me a small glass, and I mean _my_ small size, not_ your_ small size."

"You've used this bath a lot haven't you, since you moved in."

"I didn't have one in the apartment, just a shower. And it's big in there, I can float around."

"I had to order it especially, as if I'd fit in a normal size bath."

She pursed her lips, leaning against the back of the sofa, "Hmm, as if you'd fit…" And she did indeed saunter off.

"Think I'll skip the snooker." He called after several minutes. The television went off, wine was opened and poured and he followed her into the bathroom, finding her just settling back into the bubble-filled water.

"What are you doing?" She laughed as he started to undress.

"Testing the size of my bath."

"Charles, don't be silly."

"It's purely in the interests of science, or maths, or something like that." He said as he toed off his socks.

"Wait," she held up her hand. "If you're getting in here I want something in return."

"And what am I getting?"

She held her arms up, the soapy bubbles sliding deliciously down her skin, "This of course." She teased, laughing.

"Fair enough. And you want?"

"Read to me, I'd like that."

"I can manage that," he says, pushing his trousers down his legs.

The water is warm and silky, her body against his – smooth, honeyed, a gentle weight. His eyes are closed, head tilted back and his hands wandering over her skin, her fingers atop of his, tracing where he goes.

"You're meant to be reading," she says lowly, her voice heady.

"I will," he kisses her head, buries his nose in her hair.

She sits forward, his hands sliding from her stomach, across her hips as she reaches for her wine and takes a sip.

"This is a nice choice."

"Come back here," he asks, his arms open.

"You promised to read."

"And I will," he leans to the right, drops his arm over the side and searches for his book. "I'm going to be a cliché and read Shakespeare."

Smiling she settled back in his arms, kissing his arm as she did so, "Nobody has ever read Shakespeare to me."

"If somebody asked me for my favourite writer this would be him. Why we don't have a National Shakespeare day I'll never know, you have Burns night."

"Start a letter writing campaign in the shop."

"I just might. I could get my book group onto it."

"Charles."

"Hmm?"

"Read. Otherwise I'll have wrinkled up and have to get out."

He kissed her head again, "Bossy."

He turned immediately to the first one he wanted to share, a third of the way through the book, "Sonnet 29." He said grandly, the timbre of his voice caressing the words, and she closed her eyes, content.

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

* * *

**Two years ago**

"Mum, mum what is it?" Anna asked, seeing the shock on Elsie's face.

She watched as her mother sank back against the kitchen counter, surrounded by boxes, both of them scruffy and covered in dust, red-faced with exhaustion.

"Mum. You're scaring me, come on, it's not to do with this apartment is it, not now we've bloody well moved everything in here."

"No. No it's not that." She turned the letter in her hand, scanned the back and then folded it again.

"Well," she breathed in deeply, out slowly. "What a fitting day to get it."

"To get what? Do you need a brandy or something mum, you've gone really pale?"

"No. I'll be fine. It's just…" she turned the paper to Anna. "My divorce. Your father and I are now no longer legally married."

Anna took the paper, scanned it, "Wow, how do you feel?"

Elsie closed her eyes, shrugged, "I don't know." She looked at her daughter. "I really don't know."

* * *

_Hope you're still enjoying living their lives! Please let me know what you thought. Next time it's Anna's end-of-University party... xx_


	21. Chapter 21

_This chapter has been planned and written in my head from the start. I think if this were a T.V. drama this would be the bit where Phyllis wins her award!_

_I hope you get as much from reading it as I did writing it – it was kinda therapeutic._

**Chapter 21**

**Saturday – a week until Anna's party**

Elsie leant back in her chair watching as both Charles and Anna helped themselves to a third helping of Masala.

"It would be rude not to," Anna laughed as Charles spooned it into her dish.

"I don't know how you can possibly fit anymore in," Elsie smiled, dropping her napkin to the table.

"You can ask that question of your daughter dear, she's tiny, but not me."

"You do realise I made that lemon sorbet, just as you requested."

"And we'll eat it," Anna said, dipping another samosa into her sauce. "This is so good though mum, I feel like I haven't had proper food for an age."

"You see, you should be flattered," Charles said before swallowing another mouthful.

"I am, I'll go get some more wine. You are getting a taxi home though, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I may need to borrow some money for it."

"Obviously," she said rolling her eyes.

When she returned from the kitchen, a bottle of chilled white wine in her hand, she stopped by the door and watched as Charles and Anna chatted and laughed. They were getting on so well, so easy now and natural. It did something to her stomach and she had to pause for a moment. One hand on her chest.

How had things become so easy? She used to be so afraid that at any moment it might just be snatched away from her that she'd recoiled from it, tried to keep it at bay, and now, finally, that internal freeze was rapidly thawing and she felt an entirely new sensation taking over.

As she watched the two of them together it was so clear, so simple to admit – absolute and complete love.

"Where's the wine Els?" Charles called and she shook herself from her moment of reverie and went in to join them.

Charles studied the cards in his hand again, then leant back in his chair, flicking a glance towards the other two. Elsie was clearly holding a rubbish hand – the occasional nit-pick of teeth against lower lip gave her away – but Anna was harder to read, she kept her gaze neutral, she was a good Poker player actually.

"So, next Saturday," he said, "What kind of thing is it – formal, casual?"

"Formal. We thought it such a shame that we just kind of finish our course and that's it, we don't do anything until graduation and that's months away. So, why not organise something special? Professors will be there, parents you know. So, dress up. Opportunity for a new dress mum."

"Ah, but I already have one."

"So organised." Anna preened.

"I am, it's blue, well kind of blue, and long and fancy."

"Mine's short and red and puffy!" Anna laughed.

"Good lord, I don't have a dress, I feel left out!"

Elsie reached over and tapped the back of his hand with hers, "Never mind dear, we'll get you a nice tie."

She shuffled her cards again, throwing a few chips into the middle. "I'm going to fold."

Charles smirked, he knew it.

"Come on then Anna, what's it going to be?"

"I'm going to match you, and raise you." She said confidently throwing her chips in.

"You do realise she actually has no money." Elsie said, sipping her wine.

"But I'm going to win." Anna proclaimed, she glanced at her phone as it bleeped and her hand hovered over it but she refrained from responding, figuring Charles wasn't the type to react to such acts favourably.

"And have you started looking for a part time job for the summer?" Elsie asked.

Anna rolled her eyes, "Of course. I'm going to be going into Mercer three times a week as a volunteer, you know I did that last summer and it can't help."

"I think that's a good idea, but it doesn't mean they're just going to offer you a job."

"I know that mum, I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say that, I just meant that you need to think further afield."

"I am, but I can't really apply until I have my results, my credentials. I just need something part time to get some money together over the summer."

Charles watched the exchange with reserved interest. He threw his chips into the middle and put his cards down, "There…"

Anna grinned, laying her cards out one by one. "I do believe I win."

Charles chuckled, "Yes, I do believe you do."

"Yay!" Anna chair danced as she scraped the pile of chips to her.

"You know I'm looking for someone to work in the shop." Charles finally said, tentatively.

"You don't have to do that," Elsie said.

"No, I mean, I was looking for a teenager really, but if you want a job and you wouldn't think it boring or degrading to work here with me."

"That would be great. Really?"

"Really. I need someone Fridays and Saturdays mostly, that's my busy time and I'd rather like to start taking the odd Saturday off." He said glancing towards Elsie. "But I was going to offer three days a week initially."

"Well, I'm sure we could work something out. Thanks very much Charles, that's great."

"You're welcome. When are you back up here full time?"

"Two weeks, or a week and half, I'm there obviously next weekend but then we move out the following Wednesday so I guess I'll get the train back…" She said eyeing her mum.

"I suppose that means you'd like my car to move your stuff."

"It would help."

"We could come down in two cars next weekend, if Charles doesn't mind my borrowing his for work."

"Not at all. If it helps." He shrugged, refilling their glasses.

"Thank you." Anna was gleeful.

"You're like a child."

"You love it."

"And what are you going to do with the spare tickets for this party? Give them to another student for their family?"

"Sorry?"

"Your father and Sarah's ticket – if they aren't coming."

"Well, he hasn't actually turned it down."

Charles picked up their cards, reshuffling them, back and forth, as he listened and observed.

"Oh. I thought you said they weren't coming."

Anna squirmed a little, "If he comes he'll be alone. He and Sarah…well, last time I spoke to him they'd separated."

Elsie stiffened slightly.

"I mean who knows what's going on now, you know what he's like. They could be back together."

"She didn't want to worry you," Charles said gently.

"You mean you knew. How come you both knew and I didn't?"

"Well," Anna reached for her glass, needing a drink. "It had only just happened and it was on my mind when I asked Charles to come, the night we played Monopoly."

"That's ages ago."

Anna nodded.

Elsie slumped back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. "You should have told me?"

"Why does it matter?" Charles asked gently, putting the stack of cards down in the middle of the table.

"It just…" she looked up at him, a frown on her face. "It just does."

"Oh." He tapped the table with his hands before pushing his chair back and standing up, "I'll go make some coffee."

She rolled her eyes as he went, tutting at herself, and when she looked across the table at her daughter Anna was scowling in return.

"Don't give me that look."

"Well then don't go all funny when we talk about Dad. Jeez mum, it doesn't matter if he's there or not because you finally put an end to his games. He's stopped calling hasn't he, and coming round?"

She nodded, "Yes."

"So, don't upset him," she jerked her chin towards the kitchen, "by being all weird over it. You love Charles now, don't you?"

She glanced at the table, fiddled with her discarded napkin that lay upon it. "I … I haven't said that to him…yet…"

"Why not?"

Elsie shrugged. "It's complicated."

"Well, un-complicate it. Are we having this sorbet?"

Elsie pushed her chair back, "I'll go get it."

"Okay, if you don't mind I'm just gonna call my friend back."

"I don't."

She found Charles leaning against the kitchen counter watching the coffee drip bit by bit into the pot. Moving behind him, she slid her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back.

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," he said rubbing her hand.

"I just don't want him there and ruining it, I want to enjoy being proud of Anna and do it with you beside me, not worrying where he is."

He wondered if there were more to it but he closed his eyes and pushed the thought away.

She turned her head, kissed his back. "Anna wants her sorbet."

"Well, I suppose I could force some down. Don't want to disappoint you." He twisted his head to look at her.

"I'm sure." She said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

* * *

**Wednesday – three days until Anna's party**

Elsie felt like she'd been stomping around from the lounge to the kitchen - picking things up, moving things, making dinner, washing dishes, clearing the counter, emptying the rubbish - since the moment she'd come in from work.

So when Charles appeared fresh from the shower whistling and getting fruit and wine out of the fridge she wasn't best pleased.

"What?" He asked, popping a grape into his mouth.

"I've just cleaned that side."

"Just getting a snack."

"We ate an hour ago."

"I'm peckish."

Rolling her eyes she started to lie out her exercise books on the kitchen table. Charles bumped against her as he carried his grapes to the sink, rinsed them, turned and went back to where he'd left his bowl at the other side of the kitchen…water trailing along the floor as he did so.

She turned slowly, a book still in her hand. "What the hell Charles?"

"I'll mop it."

"Is it too much trouble to take the bowl to the sink with you, would it take extra effort to think that through?"

"Oh, stop moaning."

"Moaning?" She threw the book to the table. "Moaning! I've spent the last hour and a half cooking your dinner then cleaning up after you. I've got all this bloody work to do and you're going to lounge in your easy chair and read a book and have grapes and a glass of fucking wine."

"Don't swear."

"I'll swear if I want to." She turned back to the table.

"If you didn't fill this place with all your…" he waved his hand in the general direction of the table "…school work we'd have a bit of room to manoeuvre. Books all over the table, bags of things in the hall. There's a pile of essays on that coffee table that have been there since Sunday morning."

"Are you fucking kidding me!" She shouted slamming another book down. "You wanted to go out walking on Sunday so we went out and you know I worked late into the night because of that, hence those essays didn't get done. I'm not a machine."

"And I'm not a child. This is _my_ flat, I don't like being complained at for wetting my own floor."

"Oh, that's lovely – _your_ flat, _your_ floor. You're a cantankerous old git at times."

"And you can be a real shrew at times too! Picking on me about my cricket socks on the bathroom floor."

"I'm not your bloody housemaid."

"And I'm not some hen-pecked old man!"

"Maybe I'll move out again then, back to _my_ own place."

"Maybe you should."

Exactly two minutes later Elsie finds herself flat on her back in the kitchen, her skirt around her waist, knickers around her ankles and Charles between her legs as she hastily kicked down his trousers.

"I don't want you to leave," he said, covering her face in kisses.

"I don't want to leave either."

"I like you taking up all the room."

"I like you reading in your chair."

And then he's inside of her and it's fast and frantic and they're both moaning apologies and words of devotion.

"I don't want this to ever stop," he tells her as he sucks on her earlobe.

"I don't want you to stop." She groans, gripping his shoulders, "God, don't stop!"

"You feel so good," his hands are flat on the floor by her head, supporting himself as he thrusts inside her.

"Yes, you do. I want you so badly…" she lifts her legs up and around him, pushing them closer to a frenzied climax.

* * *

"Maybe we should get a bigger place." He says afterwards, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

"I'm still unpacking my boxes here."

Her feet are bare and resting on the fridge door, he watches her wiggling her toes – nails painted bright red – the hints of a tan line where her sandals have been.

"I know. But we could just see what's out there. Some place a bit bigger."

"What about the shop?"

"I can run it without living above it."

She sighed, "It's expensive in Harrogate though, even of we just went for somewhere a wee bit bigger it would be extortionate to live in the town."

"Then let's move out of the town," he lifted his feet up to rest against the fridge door next to hers, measuring the differences in width and length.

"You never wanted to before."

"Things change. I'm quite fancying the idea of a bit of a garden, perhaps a view of the Yorkshire countryside. Somewhere not too far for either of us to get to work."

She twisted her head on the floor to look at him, "You've been thinking about this."

"I have actually. I thought about it a while ago."

"Before I moved in here?"

"When we were in Dubai." He smiled as her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Remember the day in the museums – the pearls, we had a great lunch."

"You don't have to prompt me, I remember every day we spent there."

"Well then, that day, I was going to ask you that day."

She rested her head against his shoulder, "Oh."

"Mmm. When I gave you the earrings, I was going to ask then. But then you distracted me with your womanly ways…"

"Ah!" She gently tapped his arm. "I did not."

"We had that incredible night," he kissed her head remembering. "And then all went to shit."

"Let's not remember that part."

He stared at their feet again, "So, what about it?"

"Well, I'm not adverse to looking. But can it wait until the summer holidays? I'm getting so tired now my brain won't be able to take on any more information."

"Sure, that's fine."

She slid her feet from the fridge, draping her legs over his. "And you're so busy with the shop anyhow, building that customer base again."

"You think Anna will really do a few days, I know she said she would the other night but she could have just been being kind."

"I think she's bored and poor so yes, she'll do it. And then you may not even have to close whilst we're in Italy, she may be able to cope on her own. At least for a few days a week."

"Maybe."

"You called me a shrew!" She suddenly laughed. "In fact, let's just…" she leant toward the table, pulling her handbag from the chair and taking out her phone, "Look. It. Up." She tapped on her phone; he was shaking his head at her, rubbing her back. "Now, shrew – ah, here we go: a bad-tempered or aggressively assertive woman."

He felt his cheeks redden, "Did I say that?"

"You did indeed."

"I'm very sorry."

"You already said that too," she rested on his chest, folding her hands beneath her chin. "I think you said it a few times to be honest."

"Mmm, you did call me cantankerous."

"No, let's get it right," she said pointing her finger at him. "I called you a cantankerous old git. We may as well have the full affect."

He tangled his fingers in her hair, "Do you think that counts as our first domestic argument then?"

"I believe it does." She kissed his chest, "I've got to do some marking honey, as nice as this has been."

"Hmm," he turned to kiss her forehead, "Oddly nice on the kitchen floor."

"Don't trip over your trousers when you get up." She pushed against him, knelt on the floor and used the table to help her to her feet.

She was just rolling her neck and rearranging her skirt as he got up, rubbing his shirt, "My back's wet."

"Serves you bloody right," She laughed throwing a dishcloth at him.

* * *

**Saturday - the party **

Charles was nervous, though he'd never admit it. He'd never been anyone's father figure – and he wasn't claiming to be one now – but he felt as if he were in that position tonight.

Climbing the stone steps up to the grand hotel with Elsie he kept his eyes focussed on the back of her head, his hand resting tentatively at the base of her spine.

"I'm excited," she said as she lifted her dress to climb the steps. "This is very posh."

"It is, we never had any of this when I finished University, just a piss up in the local pub."

She chuckled, "I know." By the door they joined the line of other parents and Elsie dug around in her bag for their tickets. "I hope you're going to dance with me tonight Mr Carson." She said, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Every chance I get," he kissed the back of her head, noting how she glanced around as they waited to go in.

He reached for her hand, squeezed it in his. "Alright?"

"Yes." She squeezed his hand in return. "Yes, very much so."

"You do look beautiful." He stepped closer to her, whispering by her ear, "In fact, I've looked around and I think you're the most beautiful woman here."

She giggled, whispering in return, "I think you may be biased."

"Or very bloody accurate."

"Ha! Or that."

She handed their tickets across and they followed the line inside, the ballroom they were ushered into was spectacularly decorated, and she felt proud that her daughter had played a part in setting this up. There were garlands of blue fabric hung from the ceiling decorated with silver-star lights – the same lights woven into the potted plants dotted around the room.

They found their table; on the east side of the room, not too far from the dance floor. Perfect.

Charles unbuttoned his jacket, and took his seat whilst Elsie searched the room for Anna but it was too busy to spot her.

"She'll find us," he assured her and nodding she sat beside him, turning in her seat to face him, her hand on his leg.

"We're living quite an elegant life of late Charlie, don't you think."

"You know, Elspeth, how much I adore it when you call me that."

"Mmm, I know." She teased, leaning in to kiss him.

She felt a hand on her back and sat up quickly. "Now mother, don't embarrass me by smooching in public."

"Hi sweetheart," she got up, hugging Anna, "you look so beautiful." She stood back, "Twirl for me."

"Honestly, you'd think I was still fifteen." But she obeyed and turned accordingly.

"I think I need a picture," Elsie gushed, fussing in her bag for her phone. "My little girl all grown up and elegant."

She snapped a few pictures, until she felt Charles' hand on her arm, "Go stand with her and let me get the two of you together."

They happily posed for several shots, Elsie's arm tight around her daughter's waist. "Enough?" Charles asked.

"I think so." She took the phone from him and they started to look through what he'd taken.

"I'll go get us a drink," he said, leaving them alone.

"You really do look beautiful," Elsie said. "And I'm so very proud of you."

Anna turned to face her, "I'm proud of you too mum."

"Why?"

"Because." She shrugged. "Just because. And thank you for the loan of your car."

"You're welcome," she brushed invisible specks of dust from Anna's bare shoulders, "You're not driving it tonight though are you?" She suddenly said, concern on her face.

"God no, it's safe at home, I intend to wake up tomorrow not knowing how I got home."

Elsie shook her head, "I don't want to hear that. Anyhow, before you disappear to your table with your friends I have something for you." She pulled a small box from her bag, "Now, it was your Grandmother's, I had to have it resized for you."

"Oh mum," Anna flipped the lid to reveal a deep sapphire ring shining back at her.

"I had it cleaned up too, I want you to have it, you never knew your Grandmother but she'd be immensely proud of you."

Anna pulled her Elsie into another hug. "She'd be proud of you too mummy."

She kissed her daughter's head, "Now, don't go getting me all watery eyed. I've spent ages on this eye-liner."

"Alright," she stood back, putting the ring on. "Fancy, fancy don't you think."

"Oh very nice," Charles agreed retuning to them. "I told you she'd love it," he said smiling at Elsie. "Now shall we have some champagne to toast you with?"

"I like all this celebrating me, it's rather wonderful."

"It comes from being an only child," Elsie teased.

* * *

They had lamb for main course, which pleased Charles greatly, and by the time dessert had arrived (a warm plum tart with cream) Elsie had fully relaxed. She was chatting amiably with the others on their table and there was plenty of laughter and joking – and he was relieved. They had made it through the night with no mention of Joe and no sight of him. For the first time since hearing of his existence Charles could thank him for doing one thing right. Not turning up.

"Honey…" Elsie whispered, leaning against his arm.

He brushed his thumb across her shoulder. "Yes?"

"This man over here, was his name Simon? Well, I think he rather likes me and in any moment will ask me to dance, and I may just take him up on it should no other handsome fellow make the most of the opportunity." Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

He smiled, "Trying to prove a point are we?"

"Do I need to?"

He leant in closer to whisper by her ear, "You just wait until we get back to that hotel room darling. I'll prove a point."

She was giggling wickedly as she got to her feet, pulling on his hand as he rose from his chair and followed her to the dance floor.

She was happily swaying against him, her head pressed against his shoulder, when Anna approached them, tapping her mum on the arm.

"What's wrong?" Elsie smiled, "Do you want to dance with me instead?"

Anna led them to the side of the dance floor, her face pale, "Dad's here," she said, her voice low. "And he's drunk and he's behaving oddly – like, really oddly."

Elsie felt her heart tighten, her lungs close in.

"Where is he?"

"I dragged him out into another room, he's raving that he wants his dinner but it was served two hours ago. It's embarrassing mum."

"Alright sweetheart," she squeezed her shoulder. "I'll go talk to him."

Charles' eyes closed involuntarily, so much for doing the right thing.

"Which room?" Elsie asked again.

"It's out the door, over there, straight across. Like a library or something, I left him slumped on the sofa, said I was going to get someone to get him some dinner."

"I'll go with you." Charles said gravely.

"No. No I'll be fine." Elsie assured him, not daring to look round to his face, "I'm used to him." She didn't want to say that he'd be angry to see Charles, that she feared violence and she couldn't have stood for that – Charles wasn't that kind of man and she didn't want Joe to force him to become that way.

She walked away from them both, she did it quickly and determinedly – if she was going to have to deal with this it was best to get it over with.

Pushing open the door she took a deep, shuddering breath, preparing herself for whatever was going to come her way.

"Joe?" She said gently, seeing the back of his head, he was sitting on a high-backed sofa by the fire.

He turned; his eyes red, face ashen. "Elly…" he breathed. "So good to see you. And you look real nice too, real nice."

Squaring her shoulders she crossed the room, moved to stand in front of the fire so she could see his face.

"No offence Joe but you look like hell."

"Gee, thanks baby." He took a swig from the hip-flash he was carrying. "Must be living without you." He suddenly covered his face with his hand, rubbing his eyes.

"Joe?"

"She's left me Elly, pregnant and left me. Stuck on that godforsaken farm with no wife and no baby."

"Well, I'm sorry…" she watched as the painful emotions ran across his face, a shadow of the man she once knew. "I am sorry Joe." She stepped closer to him and his hands reached for her body, pulling her too him, his face buried against her stomach.

* * *

Charles turned his wine glass around and around again, watching the deep red liquid inside swirl up the side of the glass.

"You think she's alright?" Anna asked.

"I don't know."

"She's been a long time."

"Yep." His mouth felt dry, his chest aching.

Anna glanced across to the door again, staring at it, willing her mother to come back.

"How much longer should we give her?" She asked.

Charles drained the wine in his glass, "I think we've given her long enough." He claimed, standing and striding purposefully across the ballroom to where Elsie had gone. Anna rushing behind him.

* * *

Elsie pushed hard on Joe's shoulders, forcing her body out of his grasp.

"Don't do that," she said, her voice cold.

"Why not, I need you to help me."

"I am here to help you, I'm here to stop you embarrassing your daughter, making a fool out of yourself and risking not seeing her again. Because she's upset Joe, you turning up in this state."

"What fucking state?"

"You're drunk. You're loud and bolshy and embarrassing her."

"Bollocks!"

"You should go back to your hotel and rest, call Anna tomorrow."

"Don't me tell me what the fuck to do!" he said, suddenly on his feet.

The door behind them opened and Anna and Charles came in, Anna closing the door behind them.

Joe's face seemed to draw in on itself, grey and tight.

"What the hell is he doing here? This is my daughter, my family. He's got no place."

"Joe." Elsie pleaded.

"Dad, please."

"Joe listen, you're upset, I get that." She tried to get him to focus on her, standing in front of him, blocking his view of Charles – the sofa between the four of them. "And we want to help you, honestly we do, Anna and I, but you need to go sleep this off first."

"I said stop fucking telling me what to do!" He roared at her.

"Don't speak to her like that." Charles warned, his voice low, neutral.

Joe turned to face him again, a sly grin on his face. "Who the hell are you? Some bloody bookkeeper who's lusted after my wife for years. Well, you've had your fun, got yourself laid, you can leave now. She's back with me. So toddle on old man."

Charles didn't get a chance to respond because for the first time in her life Elsie let her feelings show physically and she slapped Joe hard across the face, her hand stinging with the force of it.

"Don't you DARE!" Her voice was hard, firm, and she pointed at him, her hand never shaking. "Don't you dare talk to him like that!"

Joe was silenced by her venom, he'd never seen her like that, she wasn't the woman he was married to all those years. She wasn't even the woman he'd tried to seduce a few months ago. He touched his raw cheek tenderly.

"I didn't know what love was until I met him." She said strongly. "Do you understand that? I didn't know what love was."

The room was still, silent, the very air around her seemed charged with the energy she was exuding.

"Your twisted way of loving me, telling me that's love. Manipulation and cheating and mind games. I was with you for almost thirty years and I've never been so alone. So don't stand there and try telling me this is _your_ family, and _your_ rights. I don't belong to you."

"Elly…"

"I don't belong to you. I don't want you. You no longer even exist to me."

She stepped back from him, "I don't want to know you exist, I don't want to hear your name or think about you or see you for the rest of my life. Do you understand that? I said – do you understand?!"

He nodded, meekly.

"Don't you EVER try to tell me that this is love, that what you did to me all those years was love because you have no idea. Not even the remotest idea, of how to even offer it. He's a million times the man you'll ever be. And yes, he does love me, and you know what, I don't feel disgusted and sickened whenever he tells me that."

Holding his gaze she backed away, moving around the sofa until she got to Charles, she brushed his arm with her hand as she passed him, urging him to go with her.

She could hear Anna crying and she knew she had to get out of the room, she wouldn't break, she wouldn't cry or even flinch where he could see it. Her hand was on the door handle when he spoke again.

"She didn't say she loved you." Joe spat out, his voice laced thick with spite. "She didn't," he shrugged, staring hard at Charles, menace and sarcasm in his eyes. "Having free access to her pussy and having her heart are two very different things, and she gives the first up easy I can tell you!"

Before Elsie even had time to turn Charles was around the sofa and had pounded his fist into Joe's face. The other man tumbled; fell backwards onto the sofa clutching his jaw.

"You absolute bastard!" Charles raged, leaning over him, going in for more but Elsie was pulling on his arm.

"Oh god, no, Charles don't please." It took all her strength to pull him back, to hold him still. She forced him to look at her. "I don't want you to be that man. Please." She rubbed his arms, looked into his eyes, her voice pleading, "Please…" She held his arms, and he quieted, his rage quelled by her soft voice.

He walked with her to the door, her hands still clutching his arm.

"Don't call me again Dad." Anna said, slamming the door shut after them.

* * *

Elsie headed outside, seeking the coolness of night. Back down the stone steps, she walked directly through the car park, her heart thudding, her blood buzzing in her ears. She crossed the grass; stopping when she reached a large Oak tree, she pressed her palms against its surface, leant against it for support and closed her eyes breathing in the dark air.

Behind her Charles waited and watched. Gave her time to compose herself before he trampled over the grass to her. He put his hand out to touch her, could see her entire body shaking, but instead he curled his hand in and said gently,

"I'll call a taxi, take us back to the hotel."

Yes," she said, her voice thick.

"Mum," Anna was still sniffling behind them and it was her voice that made Elsie pull herself together. She stood straight, turned and walked back to the main path, her heels sinking into the dirt as she made her way to her daughter.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." She said, drawing Anna to her, pressing her head against her chest. "So sorry, we ruined your night."

"No. No you didn't, he did. Mum what he said to you…"

"It doesn't matter."

"But it does! It matters a hell of a lot."

"Not anymore." She kissed her forehead. "Look, Charles and I are going to go but you," she breathed deeply. "I want you to carry on with your plans, the party's almost over but you were going to go out with your friends, enjoy yourself."

"Mum…"

"I mean it." She tucked Anna's hair behind her ear, "You dry your tears and go, don't let him ruin it for you. And we'll call you tomorrow and maybe go out for a hangover cure lunch." She attempted a small smile.

"I love you mum."

"And I love you," she squeezed her tight to her again, so often her lifeline over the years it felt good to finally be able to know she didn't need her as a lifeline now, she didn't need anyone to be her lifeline. She had herself to rely on.

* * *

In the taxi they sat in silence, it was a fifteen-minute journey and Elsie sat on one side in the back of the cab, Charles at the other.

He paid before following her up the stairs to the hotel. She was already using their key card to get in and was half way along the corridor before he got inside and closed the door behind him.

In silence they walked the corridors, one behind the other, Elsie staring straight ahead, Charles finding the deep purple carpet intensely interesting.

Once inside she went directly to the bathroom and he exhaled, a breath he felt he'd been holding since he'd stood in that room listening to her words. He loosened his necktie, dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and slumped into the easy chair by the window, the drapes were still open and before them a sea of darkness.

Elsie came back in carrying a towel; she bent in front of him and lifted his hand up into her lap. It was the first time he'd realised how much pain he was in, his knuckles swollen – red and purple.

She gently wrapped his hand in the damp cloth.

"I've never hit anyone before," he said, his voice just above a croak.

"I know. We need ice really. Call for drinks and get plenty of ice."

She looked up at him, rubbing his knee, "I'm not avoiding you." She said clearly. "But I'm going to take a bath, I need a moment to myself, alright?"

He nodded, watched as she rose and closed the curtains, her beautiful dress skimming the floor, the rustling of the silken material as she moved. What a waste. An hour ago he had her in his arms dancing.

For some reason he ordered sherry, and water and lots of ice. He sat in silence in the dim light of the room sipping the liquor with his hand in the ice-bucket.

His mind wouldn't settle. There was too much in it, re-playing the scene, what she'd said, how she was. Coming face-to-face with that man after hearing snippets of his behaviour over the years, he suspected there was more but Elsie revealed as and when and he didn't want to push.

He rubbed his eyes, it was almost a quarter past one and his body ached but his mind wouldn't tire.

When the bathroom door finally opened and she emerged in her bathrobe with damp hair and pink, flushed skin he was ready to beg her to forgive him and not leave – so convinced he was that now she'd faced that, stood up to her ex-husband, she would see she didn't need him anymore.

"What did you order?" she asked, picking up the bottle from the small drinks table. "Sherry? I haven't had sherry for years." She filled a small glass and he watched as she knocked it back in one go, coughing slightly then licking her lips.

For a moment she stood watching him, the way he slumped in the over-sized chair, one hand in the bucket, the small glass disappearing inside his other. He looked sad and despondent and she didn't want that.

She moved the table beside his chair so the sherry was in easy access, switched off all the lights but the lamps by the bed and dug out a blanket from the cupboard. Charles watched half-amused, half-mesmerised as she came to him, climbing into his lap, her legs dangling over one side of the chair, her head curled between his arm and chest.

He took the blanket and draped it over her legs and she pulled it up to her chest as she snuggled against him as she closed her eyes.

For a long time they sat in silence, Charles finishing his second sherry, Elsie's warm weight curled against him.

Finally he kissed her head, breathing in her scent. "How are you feeling?" He asked softly.

She let out a long breath, biting on her bottom lip, "Oddly, I feel alright. Shocked maybe, but not by him, by myself, that I stood up to him and finally said what I needed to say."

His hand was on her back, stroking her skin. He remained silent, content to listen.

"I feel a little freer I suppose." She leant her head against his chest again. "Strangely free, like whatever I've been carrying around all this time, since the divorce really, maybe before then, like it's lifted. I needed that. I needed to say that and do that."

"I'm sorry I disappointed you."

She lifted her head quickly, turning her face to his, "How have you disappointed me?"

"By hitting him, I know I let you down doing that."

"No. No Charles you didn't. Did I want you to hit him? No. But that's not because I judge you or I don't want him hurt. It's because you're not that man, you're a kind, good man and I didn't want you to hate yourself for letting him drag you down. Believe me – I know what that feels like."

She touched his face, "My darling man, you could never disappoint me."

"I couldn't bear to think what he's put you through, you're everything to me, everything, and to even imagine that he'd hurt you – I saw red."

"I know. But he does that on purpose. Well, he did. Not anymore. I never again after tonight want to discuss him with you. He isn't part of our lives anymore."

He sighed, as nice an idea as that was he knew it wasn't feasible. There were still things she had to work through, memories best out in the open rather than locked in her head.

"I've been researching counselling." She said, as if reading his mind. "And I think it's about time I go to talk to somebody. Just talk. I don't want to be taking any drugs or anything – I'm not depressed. Being with you has made me the happiest I've ever been. But I need to just talk – about Joe, about my father, my mother. Just to get it out of my head."

He nodded, brushed his hand across her hair, "I think that's a good idea."

She snuggled against him again, her body seemed so fragile at that moment, cradled in his lap and he had such an overwhelming desire to protect her.

"Anna called," he said. "I spoke to her, I hope you don't mind. She's okay, she was in a bar in town and she sounded okay. She was worried about you."

"Did you put her at ease."

"I told her you were sleeping but seemed fine."

"Thank you. I'll ring her tomorrow."

She yawned, pressed her face against his chest breathing him in. "Talk to me. Tell me something nice."

He understood her reasons for that, despite how empowered she might feel it was still raw.

He kissed her forehead, "I remember there was a day you came into the shop. Maybe four months before I plucked up the courage to ask you out. It was raining, spring rain."

He closed his eyes, tilted his head back on the chair as he recalled. "You rushed in, shaking your arms – water going everywhere, and your hair was damp and had curled. I remember you had a newspaper in your hand and it was sodden and you'd been caught out in the rain and had run to the shop with the paper over your head and it seemed so funny. We laughed, you threw the paper away and I got you a towel and made tea and you'd leant on my counter and we talked. I can't recall what of..."

"The smell of the rain." She whispered.

"Yes, that, you smelt like spring rain, your hair touched my hand when you bent over the counter to look at an article I was showing you and it made my stomach shiver."

She smiled.

"And when you were wandering around the shop looking over the new books and I was watching you I got this odd feeling in my chest. Like I could talk to you forever. Like I never wanted you to leave. But of course you did. You bought a book and I wrapped it and it stopped raining and you left."

"I remember," he kissed her head again, "I remember going to bed that night and I couldn't sleep and there was this oddly disconcerting and ridiculous idea going around in my head. It was silly – though we'd spoken for years I hardly knew you, and for all I knew you were still married, and just being polite and we'd shared nothing but a handful of pleasant conversations. But I'm lying there and I'm thinking, feeling, like I was falling in love with you. And I didn't want it to stop."

* * *

_Phew! I'm relived to finally get that chapter out. I hope you enjoyed it - please leave me a message/review/comment, I really am **dying** to know what you thought of it. xx R_


	22. Chapter 22

_Sorry for the delay in posting this one - another fairly lengthy chapter, it covers the last remaining weeks of the school year so there was quite a bit to pack in._

_Pics of the cottage discussed are on tumblr._

**Chapter 22**

**Sunday after the party**

A small gap in the curtains let in the morning sunlight, it hit Elsie's face, warm and dazzling. Not that she was asleep. She'd lain awake since 4:30, too many things she needed to do and say and fix – and the previous night's events replaying on a continuous loop behind her eyelids.

Charles was snoring lightly beside her, and she didn't mind that, not really. But she wanted him awake, his warm, strong hands on her. She wanted him loving her, filling her mind with nothing but him, with who they were together.

Turning she traced her fingertips over his face, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, brushing back his errant hair. "Charles," she whispered, surprised by the sound of her own voice in the dimness of the hotel bedroom.

One hand slid over his bare shoulder, down his bicep, squeezing very gently. And then further, below the sheets, along his leg, as far as she could reach and back up again until she sensed he was waking and his body was reacting to her touch.

She kissed his forehead again, across his cheek, down his nose until they were both smiling and his mouth was meeting hers – soft and warm and full.

She wasn't in the mood for foreplay; she sought that heady, intoxicating feeling that came with him inside of her, his weight on her, his mouth by her ear. Her fingers brought him to life and she rolled onto her back pulling him with her, her legs parting around him, gripping him to her.

But something was different. He was doing everything right and it felt good but she just couldn't quite… her eyes were closed, squeezed tight and Charles was holding back, or trying to, slowing his movements, his hips barely moving. Slow and languid with the sun on his back and her scent filling him; her nails digging into his shoulders and she was so tight and so lovely.

"God Els, I can't…" He almost whimpered the words and she held his face, kissing him deeply, lifting her pelvis to his and driving him over the edge, his face buried in her neck.

Moments later he lifted his face to hers and they both said, "Sorry…" simultaneously, laughing at the shared apology.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she brushed her hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. "I guess I just wasn't quite _there_ this morning."

"That's the first time that's happened… with us."

She nodded, just slightly, her teeth bruising her bottom lip. "It doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it…"

"But you didn't."

"No. I did. I just didn't orgasm. There's a difference."

His brow furrowed and she smiled. "Women are different to men," she shrugged. "Sometimes it just doesn't happen. For men it pretty much _always_ happens."

He raised his eyebrows, "Sometimes a bit too easily."

She appreciated the levity, and stroked her hand down his back. "As we're awake, shall we go for breakfast?"

"Yes," he kissed her, letting his lips trace tender patterns over hers.

He worried she had Joe on her mind, that he was the reason, the block to her enjoying being with him. Last night was a breakthrough for her and highly emotional and yet she hadn't cried or even got angry and ranted and raved. They'd just talked in the chair until both were struggling to maintain conversation and then crawled into bed, falling asleep wrapped together.

Of course he knew she'd been awake during the night – she always made at least two trips to the bathroom (he'd stopped making jokes about her weak bladder during the drive down to Warwick; she'd lost her temper after he'd complained at having to stop at services for the third time in a relatively short trip). But it wasn't just that. He knew she'd lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, plumping her pillows, her hands knitted together on top of the sheets.

He gave her space. Let her work through it. And finally she'd turned over, snuggled against his side until he'd lifted his arm around her and her head found it's familiar spot on his chest and she'd drifted off.

She tapped her fingers against his lower back. "You'll have to move if we're going to get dressed and go down for breakfast."

"Mmm," he kissed her one last time before getting up. "Shall I go shower first?"

She turned on her side, folding his pillow beneath her head as she watched him. "Sure. Charles…" she said gently as he found his travel bag.

"Yep?"

"You look…" she smiled at him plodding about, naked and unashamed in front of her.

He stood tall, patting his stomach, "Almost gone see. These 'workouts' are doing me a lot of good."

She giggled, "Perhaps the bike rides every few days whilst the shop's been closed have played a part."

"Perhaps. Won't be long."

When he came out she was asleep, lying in the same position gripping the pillow and he hadn't the heart to wake her. He dressed silently, it was after nine and breakfast was only served until ten so he crept out.

There were papers in the lobby and he tucked one under his arm before lying to the receptionist – his wife (how it thrilled him to use that word) wasn't feeling well and could he possibly have a tray made up to take to her. They did as he requested and he returned to the room, pouring himself tea and eating a cinnamon bagel as he read the paper.

She didn't wake for hours and he'd broken and eaten her bagel too – guilt lingering in the aftermath. He had the television on mute and watched the cricket with subtitles, slightly delayed subtitles that told him the action around sixty seconds after it had occurred.

He heard her breathing change, and the rustling of the bed sheets and he switched off the television, turning in the chair to look at her.

She flopped onto her back, for a moment or two staring at the ceiling as she readjusted to where she was – sleep clearing and her mind sharpening.

"Hi," he said when she looked at him.

"Hi," she blinked, rolled onto her side to face him. "Did I fall asleep?"

"You did."

"What time is it?"

He glanced at his watch, twisting it on his arm, "A little after twelve."

"Goodness." She stretched her arms, curved her back. "I guess I must have needed it."

He didn't say anything, just watched as she sat up, brushing her hair back from her face. "Did Anna call?"

"Not yet. Not that I noticed anyhow."

She reached for her phone on the bedside table and hastily tapped a message, _'Are you awake yet? Lunch?'_

"It's nice out." He said. "Do you want to do something before we drive home?"

"Yes. Let's not set off back until late, make the most of being here."

She dropped her legs out of bed, pulling the sheets around and pressing a hand to her forehead. "Oh, my head. I'll have to take some tablets. Was I drunk last night?"

"I think it's probably the deep sleep."

"Probably."

Her phone bleeped and she swiped her finger over the screen, _'Awake but dying. Food will either save me or push me over the edge.'_

She smirked, reading it aloud to Charles.

_'We'll pick you up in an hour,'_ she typed back.

* * *

"Think I'm going to have this Cold Cuts Board." Charles said, tapping his finger against his choice on the menu.

"That sounds good," Anna agreed. "But I think I need fat to soak up the alcohol, so I'm afraid it's going to have to be the steak burger and chips for me. Mum?"

Elsie eyed the sapphire ring sparkling on Anna's finger, it fit her well, not too large to be intrusive, not too small to be insignificant. It made her think of her mother.

"What you having mum?"

"Oh, erm, I think just this chicken salad."

"It's a gastro pub mum."

"Then it will be a very good salad." She shrugged. "I'm not very hungry." She held out her hand for their menus, "I'll go order."

"I'll go," Charles said, starting to get to his feet.

"No it's fine, I need the loo first anyhow. And no jokes please." She warned him. "So, drinks? I'm having tonic water, Charles?"

"Pint of their local ale."

"God alcohol!" Anna frowned. "Orange juice I think, no scrap that, it might make me puke."

"Lovely!"

"Diet Pepsi, loads of ice and lemon."

"And a very big jug of water to rehydrate you." Elsie said, shaking her head.

When she'd gone to the bar Anna leant in closer to Charles on their shared bench, "How is she?"

"She's been fine. We talked last night but she didn't get upset, or even angry. She's said…" he paused, perhaps Elsie wouldn't want Anna to know about the counselling, he didn't want to put his foot in it. "She said she felt 'free'."

Anna nodded, "Good. About bloody time."

"She didn't sleep well though, I think she's a bit disorientated – it doesn't help that she has work tomorrow I suppose. She can't rest."

"Three weeks left now isn't it? Then you're off to Italy?"

"Yep. I can't wait. It seems an age since Dubai."

"Well, a lot has changed since then." Anna flipped over the beer mat in front of her, fiddling with the edges of it.

Charles glanced at the bar, making sure they were still alone. "Have you heard from him?"

Anna shook her head, "No. My friend Mike sorted him into a cab so I didn't need to see him. I don't know where he went. Frankly I don't care right now."

Charles sat back, breathing deeply as Elsie returned to them carrying a tray of drinks and her purse tucked under her arm.

"So, do you want to come in on Thursday then?" He said, moving the subject on to safer territory. "I can show you the ropes. See how you get on."

"I'd like that."

"Thursdays are usually fairly quiet, so we should be able to talk about things. Your mother used to like to come in on Thursdays after school."

She sat down, handing their drinks across. "I did, it was quiet enough for me to read for an hour or so undisturbed." She sipped the tonic water, glad of the refreshment. "So, you're really going to come and work there?"

Anna shrugged, "Yep. Until I get a real job…" she faced Charles. "Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound offensive."

"None taken. I know what you mean. It's not a huge turnover but it's good enough, and with the income from my properties…"

"Properties?" Elsie asked, surprised, "You said you had a property – this place in Italy."

"I do. The villa that we'll stay in. And there's two more, one in Spain, one in France. My mother was a canny investor you see, she bought when prices were low, right after her divorce from my father – used the money she got from it to buy. And now…well, they're worth considerably more. And I get good income from them as holiday lets."

"Why did you never say?" Anna gasped, half her glass of Pepsi already drunk. "I would have loved to stay in the Spanish one. A bit of sun with my friends."

"I think it's fully booked for the summer now. I don't handle any of that stuff, I've got an agent over there, well he worked for my mother really. But I can check when it's free, book it for you, special discount as I know you."

She jerked her body against his, nudging his arm and teasing, "You're the man Mr C."

Elsie laughed, "He is indeed. And clearly your mother was quite something too."

"Oh, most definitely! Formidable and canny. Reminds me a bit of you." He said, winking at her and lifting his pint to his lips.

* * *

**Friday**

Elsie was distracted. It was only two weeks until the end of the school year – children were hyperactive, fuelled by the summer sun and the promised joy of six long weeks of freedom – and she'd just had her first counselling session the previous evening.

The things they'd discussed had hung heavily with her all night and she knew she'd been short with Charles on more than one occasion as a result of it. As always he'd been kind and patient and in the end she'd taken herself off early to bed, ashamed for being sharp with him.

She'd woken late that morning, slept through the alarm, and was frustrated and out of sync. She'd been wrapped in his arms, her back to his chest, his face nuzzling her neck. And she didn't want to get out of bed. In fact for several minutes she'd forgotten it was even a work day – she could feel the beginnings of his erection pressing gently against her lower back and the thought of lying in bed with him and making love seemed deliciously welcoming.

It seemed like it had been so long since they had.

In reality it was only a week, their enforced restraint had lasted longer than that earlier in the year, but that last time was so awkward and she'd felt so detached. And poor Charles was so crestfallen that she'd failed to climax. Since then she hadn't much felt like sex. And somehow it seemed to hit harder now, their levels of emotional and physical intimacy had become so in tune. She felt cruel for denying him, and it was very much her choice, she knew that, she was acutely aware of that, and she still wasn't quite sure why.

To begin with it had been the result of what happened in Warwick. Then she'd started her setting in motion the counselling sessions and had been distracted by that. Lovemaking seemed the farthest thing from her mind.

Maybe this morning was the time to put an end to that.

She turned in his arms, sliding her hands over his bare shoulders, glancing over his head to the clock on the bedside table and then noticing the time. She jerked out of his embrace, 7:15, and raced around trying to get ready.

Charles sat bolt upright in bed, "What's happened?"

"I overslept."

"Thought someone had died!" He muttered rubbing his face.

"Go back to sleep." She said rushing into the bathroom, her clothes under her arm.

"I'll make you some tea," he said, but he'd flopped back onto the bed and was already snoring lightly.

She'd rushed off with a ladder in her tights – snagged on the heel of her shoe as she went to put it on – and a lukewarm tea in her travel mug. Charles had slept through it all.

Those kinds of mornings always set her up for a bad day. Though she has more free time now her exam classes have gone but that'd already been spoken for – taken up by planning for the new curriculum, absorbing the new specification and its requirements.

So her low mood wasn't helped when at lunchtime she noticed there were five missed calls on her phone – she worried Charles was ill, or something had happened to Anna and called him in a near panic, standing at the backdoor to her classroom and listening to the passing traffic and the summer breeze in the trees.

"What's happened?" She asked when he finally answered the phone in the shop. "You've left five missed calls. Is Anna okay?"

"What? Yes, she's fine, she's serving in the coffee bit."

"Then what's happened?"

"The estate agent called…"

"What estate agent? We don't have an estate agent."

"Remember we discussed looking at other properties?"

She sighed heavily, "You mean that fragment of a conversation we had…" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "…whilst lying on the kitchen floor?"

She heard him chuckle, "Yes, that one. Well I thought I might as well register our interest, get some ideas on what we can afford so my accountant did some figuring out for us and I made some calls and now they email me things they think I'll be interested in. I've been getting… oh, wait a second…"

"Charles!" she said impatiently, chewing her nail. She didn't even know he had an accountant –_ did the man share nothing?_

"I'm back, had to serve. As I was saying, I've been getting email alerts for almost five weeks now and nothing of interest – either they're way too expensive for us or at our price but shoeboxes."

"And?"

"And today, well I saw something."

She could hear the excitement in his voice and she perched on the edge of a desk as she listened to him.

"A property has just come on the market, or will be doing tomorrow, the agent emailed me the brochure and I've booked us in to go straight after work. You are free aren't you?"

"Yes, but Charles, didn't we say we wouldn't look until after the holiday? And since when do you have an accountant?"

"His name's Murray, dependable bloke. Worked for mother. And I know we said we'd wait until the summer break to look but…" he breathed deeply, "Els, it's gorgeous. It's perfectly gorgeous."

The certainty in his voice makes her chest tight, and she rests her hand over her heart as she listens.

"It's at the top of our budget and it will mean a longer drive every morning for both of us but it's gorgeous and I can see us retired there."

She smiles, hearing him do the same.

"Alright." She says gently. "Am I meeting you there?"

"No, I'll get a taxi to the school or something, we can take your car."

"You're closing the shop?"

"Anna's here, she can cope, we've agreed by the way she's going to open three days a week whilst we're away, just to keep it ticking over – now that we've re-established ourselves… She's doing really well, I feel a little proud…"

"I know honey, you said last night. I'm pleased."

"Down to my expert training of course…"

She cuts him off, "Charles, I've got about fifteen minutes of my lunch break left. Can we discuss it later?"

"Yes, right, sure. Well, I'll be at the school for – say 15:45?"

"That's fine, I'll meet you in the car park. Get dropped off on the road though and walk down, the school buses are a nightmare."

"Will do, see you in a couple of hours darling."

His endearment cheers her, "Bye."

* * *

"Are you going to tell me anything about it?" Elsie asks as she drives.

"Detached. Four bedrooms. Surrounded by countryside."

"You sound almost giddy."

"I don't mind admitting I am," he stretches his legs out in front of him, pulling down the visor to keep the sun from his face. "Believe me when I say I must have looked at fifty brochures over the last five weeks, and nothing stood out. Then the moment I saw this one I just got this feeling… If you needed to you could live all on one level, though the attic has been opened up and converted to bedrooms, there's a guest bed downstairs – ideal when you can no longer face the stairs."

"Right… so you really _are_ thinking of our old age."

He turned in his seat to regard her as she drove, "Do you know how happy it makes me to hear you speak of 'our' old age?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." But she's smiling too. She waves her hand at him, "So, the property?"

"Let's just get there. I promise you, you'll love it."

She turned her attention back to the road as the traffic started to move, the sat nav directed her and it took exactly twenty-three minutes from the school car park to the road the house was situated on. She reckoned that without Charles in the car and having to stick to speed limits she could get it down to under twenty. And then it struck her as foolish to make such plans when she hadn't even seen it yet. Charles' certainty was intoxicating.

When they pulled onto the flagstone parking area he practically jumped out of the car, Elsie was more reserved, taking her time, weighing it up, looking for signs of possible problems. But something in her heart was immediately pulled.

She stepped out of the car, leaning against the door as she looked up towards the building. The afternoon sun just caught the top of the roof and the white of the windows. She thought it looked like a cottage. An extended cottage yes but the stonework was exquisite – traditional Yorkshire.

"Built in 1859," Charles says coming around the car to her. He snatches her hand, "This could be it Els."

She casts him a look, "Let me get inside first hey." But he's right, it could be.

The estate agent greets them, explains it belonged to an elderly lady who died recently, and with no family to speak of but an older sister, it is being sold. It needs decorating and a little upgrading with the electrics but on the whole is in a sturdy condition.

When they've looked around with him he goes outside and sits in the garden leaving the two of them alone. Charles is in the kitchen, already making plans on how to extend the space, on how they'd rip it out and put in a new one and where it would all go. All the mod cons she likes, the Aga he wants.

Elsie leaves him to his dreaming, taking her time, wandering slowly from room to room, up and down the main hallway. When she's standing in the study, with the early evening sun on her back from the large windows behind her and the scent of old wood and dusty books surrounding her, she starts to cry, the tears come unbidden as she stands looking into the room and when Charles comes in he finds her with her hand covering her mouth.

"What's wrong?"

"I can see you here," she points at an old leather chair in front of the walled bookcase. "Right there, reading your paper on a Sunday morning."

He smiles, stepping towards her. "And, can you see _you_ here?"

She nods, her throat tight. "I'm sorry, I don't quite know why I'm getting so emotional."

He takes her in his arms and holds her, kissing her head. "I know it's not all fashionable and new, but it's beautiful. And spacious too. This would be home for the rest of our lives… when the time comes there's plenty of rooms down here to convert one to the master suite. And the views Els." He says, pulling back to look at her, his giddiness infectious. She can't recall ever seeing him so enthused.

"Yes to all of those things." She fiddles with the collar on his shirt, sniffling back her silly tears. "Anna can have that attic room upstairs, you'll bang your head on the beams."

"And our bedroom will be the one on the end," he smiles fondly. "Those wonderful French doors to the garden, the view beyond."

She nods, "It will be heavenly waking to it."

"It will. We'll offer the asking price then?" He says eagerly.

"What? No, of course not. We go in with an offer today and see what happens. Did you say it only came on the market today?"

He nods, "Not even on the website yet."

"Well then we're in a good position aren't we?" She suddenly rolled her eyes, "Honestly Charles, we haven't even discussed our finances, where we stand mortgage wise."

"My accountant said we can afford it. And besides I've decided to sell two of the properties, keep the villa in Italy, sell the others. The money will go towards this."

"You can't do that, that's your income."

"I do fine, I am doing fine." He holds her arms. "Elspeth, I want this house, I want to live with you in this house."

Her smile is slow and perhaps a little watery, "I want that too."

He draws her into a hug, "Well then, we'll make it happen."

* * *

**Two weeks later**

Charles leaves negotiations to Elsie, and as always with these things they drag. By the time they've reached the end of term she's put in – and had rejected – three offers.

For the most part they put it out of their minds. There's too many other things going on to allow it to niggle: Anna moving into the flat whilst they're away in order to look after the shop, with the possibility of her taking it on once they move out. Elsie emptying her apartment and relinquishing the lease. Charles putting the properties in France and Spain on the market and Elsie's counselling – three sessions in now and beginning to have impact. And of course the dramatic rush to the end of the school year, a whirlwind of sports days and outings and changing timetables.

Everything is so busy she has no time to stop and worry, or even think.

But Charles does. He thinks all day long, as he stands behind his counter and goes through the mental checklist of what they have to do. He worries about house prices and builders and the extra cost of travelling back and forth to work. And he worries about Elsie…they still hadn't made love. He usually wouldn't let such things bother him (he'd gone years without after all) and he wasn't the demanding or pushy type… it's just this worry niggling away at the back of his mind. They haven't discussed it. She hasn't even mentioned it and he certainly has no idea on how to broach the subject. And she still cuddled up to him at night and kissed him good morning and lingered in her kisses when she gets home from work.

But he worried.

She'd found a counsellor, which he was glad of, and so far had attended three appointments. She didn't tell him what they discussed but after the first one she'd woke in the night shouting out from a dream. The dream. It was the first time he could recall her having it since all those months ago on her couch.

For a moment he'd been disorientated, she was sat up in their bed, breathing deeply and it had taken him seconds to realise why. Then he'd pressed his hand to her back, no words spoken, and she'd lay back down, curled against him, her legs over his, her arms gripping his waist, and he'd rocked her until she'd slept again.

And tomorrow they were going to Italy. And this trip that he'd so looked forward to actually seemed a little bit of an inconvenience. He wanted to push things with the house, he wanted to be there for every telephone call and email and make sure it all went smoothly. Elsie seemed calmer, but then she was in desperate need of a holiday and two weeks in the sun with nobody to bother them was looking very welcoming to her.

And tonight was the staff summer barbecue… and he was feeling a little apprehensive about being on show in front of them all.

He was waiting in the hallway, their suitcases stood by the door ready for the morning flight. He glanced at his watch, 18:25, the BBQ started at 19:00.

"Elsie?" he called.

He heard her fussing and then the clip of her heels on the hall floor as she got closer to him, "What do you think of my hair?" She asked as she came into the hall. "Too choppy?"

"Er, it looks great. Is it lighter?"

"A little," she stood in front of the mirror fussing with it. "She put more layers in it here." (Charles had no idea what that meant). "And I'm not sure if it's too young for me. I got it done for the holiday."

"As I said, it looks great."

"And this shirt…too baggy? Too boring."

He smiled, "You're nervous." He stated.

"I am rather, which is silly really. I guess because it's the whole staff there."

He rubbed his brow, "Judging me…?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, "Everyone takes a partner, I just never have before. It was quite a surprise when our ICT technician turned up with his husband a few years back; nobody even knew he was gay. I felt sorry for the poor man, having to face that."

"That's because you're a kind woman." He smiled, tapping her bottom with his hand. "Are you ready now?"

"Did you pick up the wine?"

"I got a case of red, one white and one rose."

She turned sharply, "You bought a case of each? I meant get a bottle of each."

"Well, I don't recall you specifying numbers."

She chuckled, resting her hands on his chest and loosening his collar, smoothing it out, "Don't worry, you'll be very popular." She kissed him. "Shall we go?"

The early evening sunlight was golden and delicious, soft powdered rays catching on the rim of her sunglasses as she drove, tapping out the beat to the song on her steering wheel.

"I should have driven," he said, finding himself twisted in his seat in order to watch her. "It's your end of year celebration."

"But I don't want to drink, so I don't mind. I've seen one staff member too many embarrass themselves through drinking a wee bit too much and voicing their opinions a little too strongly. Besides, we're flying early, I don't want to be suffering on the plane."

"Very true."

He gazed out of the window as she drove, listening to the music, recalling the last school event he'd attended. He thought of the horrid women from the prom and wondered if he'd recognise their voices – he hoped not, it was a beautiful evening and tomorrow they were going away for a fortnight and he was happy.

"You know, you look particularly beautiful tonight, particularly exquisite."

"You're such a flirt."

"Oh yes, and we both know how well _that_ went don't we. Years and years and lists and lists of past conquests." He joked, self-deprecating.

"Well, don't go testing those techniques tonight on any pretty young teachers…"

His pride perked up, "Oh, jealous are we?"

"Now you know I'm not a jealous person by nature but yes, I'll admit to getting a tad jealous when it comes to you."

He laughed, "I love that, I might flirt on purpose just to get a reaction."

"Oh, you will not!" She took her hand from the wheel and slapped his leg. "How are you feeling about the flight?"

"Let's not talk about it."

She smiled, resting her hand on his knee as they paused in traffic, "Think of it this way, it's what – two hours – we spent over seven hours on that flight to Dubai."

"I guess. Bigger plane though, less shaking."

Chuckling she squeezed his knee, "Oh, honey." She turned into the car park, "Well, you can always hold my hand if you feel scared."

"I think I will hold your hand. Just to steady me of course."

"Oh, of course."

She smoothed down her trousers and shirt as she got out of the car, admiring the pedicure she'd had done for her holiday - she'd worn sandals especially to show it off!

"Come on then," she said, setting off towards the school.

"Erm, Elsie?"

She swished around, a few metres from him, "Yes?"

"I might need a bit of help with the wine."

"Oh, God yes." She ran back to him, chuckling as he lifted the boot. "Sorry, too busy thinking about my toes."

"What?"

"Never mind."

She stacked two boxes in his arms, "You're sure you're okay with two?"

"Is it far?" He asked, resting his chin on top of them.

"Not really." She struggled with the last box, somehow balancing it and closing the boot of the car at the same time.

They were some of the last to arrive – Elsie blamed the slow hairdresser – and found Phyllis had saved them seats on the 'History department' table. She got up to kiss Charles, which both surprised and pleased him.

"This is my husband Joseph."

"Nice to meet you," an overly smiley man, he held out his hand and Charles shook it, "Good to have some support at these things." He said jovially.

Charles agreed, at least he wasn't sat next to the P.E. teacher again.

He glanced around for where Elsie had gone.

"And of course you remember Colin Spratt," Phyllis chimed in, "And this is Eve – our newest recruit."

"Very nice to see you all." He said, taking his seat, he spotted Elsie being hugged by a woman about her age on another table.

"Did you bring three cases of wine?" Eve asked, leaning her elbows on the table.

"We had a mix up on numbers. My mistake." He said.

"Your mistake, our gain." She smiled.

He nodded, turned on the bench he was sat on to look around. They appeared to be in the school precinct and the entire thing was set up in the style of an old southern barbecue, there was even bunting hung in the trees.

"You do this every year?" He asked.

"Regular as clockwork," Phyllis replied. "It's a nice way to end the year, instead of just disappearing for six weeks."

"Though it pissed it down one year," Spratt said, he appeared to be without a partner, "And we had soggy burgers."

Joseph laughed, "I remember that. We were sheltering in the sports hall and the Head was worried about the gym floor being ruined."

Charles reached for a bottle of red wine and poured himself a large glass, Eve waggled her glass at him and he refilled it.

"You on your own?" He asked her.

She was swallowing a gulp of wine and pointed over the top of her glass to where a smart, blonde man stood, "He's there, Tom, no doubt chatting someone up. Why…" she smiled mischievously, "were you hoping to catch me on my own?"

Charles smiled nervously and drank his wine, turning to scan the precinct for Elsie – it was going to be a long bloody night if all he had for entertainment was Joseph Mosley laughing at every single joke and this Eve making eyes at him whilst her boyfriend circulated.

He was heartened when he saw Elsie was waving at him, beckoning him over. "Duty calls," he said, throwing his long legs over the bench and getting up.

"Charles," she said gripping his arm. "This is Nancy Butte, head of Food Technology, we've worked together for, what, twenty years now?"

"Must be, but don't say it too loud." She was gripping Charles' hand. "Very nice to meet you, Elsie's told me a lot about you. And it's so nice to see her happy." She beamed, still shaking on Charles' arm.

"I'd agree with that." He assured her.

"You've been together how long now?"

"Well, it's almost a year since I first asked her out to dinner." He said proudly, the memory of that shaky, mumbled request still fresh in his mind.

"That's wonderful." She squeezed his arm again, clearly she liked to touch, "I think that's just so wonderful to find someone at your time of life."

Elsie let out a chortle, covering her mouth to try and hide it.

"It is," Charles said patiently, nodding. "Nice to meet you."

Elsie hooked her arm through his and steered him away.

"Silent guffaw," she whispered as they turned away from Nancy. She patted his arm, "I think she was talking about our combined old age."

"Sure she was!"

"We're not looking bad for 108." She said.

"We're looking damned good for 108."

"She wasn't being mean, she can just be… well, clumsy in her choice of words. More than one parent's rung up over some comment in class, but she's harmless, she's got a good heart really."

"Right bunch so far," he said waggling his eyebrows at her. "When do we eat?"

"Neil's on the barbecue, see, over there."

Charles glanced towards a man in an overly large Chef's hat who was flipping burgers.

"I hope he hurries up, I'm starving. We were so busy today I hardly got time to eat. Half a sandwich snatched between customers."

"That's good though," she smiled, "you and Anna, the dream team."

"I hope she'll be okay when we're away."

"She will be. I'm sure. Look, we're likely to play games later," she said, suddenly serious as they headed back to their table. "And I want to win."

He chuckled, "Well, I shall do my very best."

"Thank you honey," she paused, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Let's destroy them!" She whispered by his ear.

* * *

"Can we settle down then please, no talking whilst the numbers are being called." Spratt said, stood on an upturned crate with a microphone in one hand and a bowl of bingo numbers on a table next to him.

"Like being the students," Phyllis whispered to the group and they sniggered.

"This isn't a game of skill," Charles muttered to Elsie, "I can't even try and win this. It's bingo, it's luck."

"You have to be skilled not to miss any of the numbers." She said to him.

"Mrs Hughes." Spratt called. "Settle down over there."

Thy all chuckled and she turned to face Spratt, "Sorry Colin, I'll behave."

"You're in his bad books now." Phyllis whispered again.

"As if she could be," Eve chipped in. "He totally loves her."

"I damn well hope not." Charles whispered.

"Funny way of showing it if he does," Elsie said dabbing number 44.

"Mrs Hughes!" Spratt shouted. "Will I have to disqualify you?"

She rolled her eyes, "I'm like the unluckiest kid in the class," she mumbled to the table. "Sorry!" She called again. "But I am being distracted sir, in my defence."

"I only saw your mouth move." He said, turning the numbers in the bowl.

"That's because he's only watching your mouth," Eve giggled and they all laughed again.

"Ha bloody ha." Elsie complained, dabbing number 23. She only needed 69 now for the house. "You're all a bunch of bullies…"

"Six and nine, sixty-nine."

"Ah! Yes!" She jumped up from her seat. "Yes, I win. I mean house!"

"Yay!" Eve clapped. "And what a fine number to win it on hey Elsie, a 69 from Spratt."

"Oh god, don't disgust me." She clambered over the bench, waving her ticket at Spratt to prove her win. "How much do I get Colin?"

"As it's the final bingo of the night the prize is £300, but I'll have to check your numbers first."

"Oh of course." She turned to the rest of the staff, silently mouthing, "YES!" And doing a happy little dance.

"All seems to be in order, well done Mrs Hughes."

The staff clapped, some cheered, as he handed her the envelope and she pulled him into a hug, "I think you can call me Elsie tonight can't you." And she kissed his cheek – making his year.

* * *

"I've gone off Spratt." Charles said merrily as they drove home. "Worried about my flirting indeed, when all the time this clown's got a humongous crush on you."

"Humongous is an underused word," she said, shaking her head. "We should have more 'humongous' things."

"Bugger off!"

She laughed, "It isn't a crush. Not like that, I don't think he has sexual thoughts. He probably likes the fact I'm mean to him and manage to always rhyme his name with a certain coarse word of the English vernacular."

Chuckling Charles reached across and squeezed her shoulder as she drove, "I like you in this mood. You were in top form tonight Els."

"I'm £300 better off, going to stay in a private villa in Italy tomorrow and hopefully getting a dream house so yes, I am in 'top form' as you say."

"Well, when you put it like that I guess things couldn't be much better."

She bit her lip, "Maybe a little better." She slid her hand onto his knee, and then higher up his thigh.

He glanced across at her his eyes narrow, "Are you trying to seduce me Ms Hughes? Because I have to tell you I'm not sure my mother would approve of that kind of thing."

"Would you like me to seduce you…?"

"I want you so badly…" Charles gasped; they were hardly inside the door, stumbling into the shop, Charles trying to reset the alarm whilst her hands were all over him, her fingers working the fly on his trousers. "God, it's been so long." He panted, kicking off his shoes at the bottom of the stairs.

She backed up them, keeping her eyes locked on his as she did so, pushing open the door at the top with her bottom as she went inside.

"Elsie," he mumbled, reaching her, his hands around her waist pulling her to him, the delicious feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. She covered his mouth with hers; her kisses were making him dizzy.

Elsie was pressed up against the doorframe, her knee between his legs, digging against his groin. "I want you to be mine." He said. "Just mine."

His words seemed to stop her, and she pulled back from the kiss, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing away.

"What?"

"Don't say that."

"What did I say?" He was genuinely confused, worried, painfully aware of his huge erection pressing against the zipper of his trousers.

"That I'm only yours." She shrugged. "I don't like it."

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realise I had. I'm sorry…" he leant in to kiss her again, hoping to brush it aside but she turned her face.

"I'll make camomile tea," she suddenly said. "We need to be up early tomorrow for the flight."

He stared after her, "Els…" he said, dejected. "Don't do that."

He followed her into the kitchen. "Elsie, come on. I didn't mean to sound in any way controlling. It just slipped out."

"I know, just forget it."

He watched as she filled the kettle, waited until she was stood by the counter until he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her head. "Joe used to say it?" He whispered.

"We made a deal not to discuss him again."

"We're discussing you. If I don't know I can't help. I made a mistake."

"No you didn't, I know how you meant it. But it just…" she shrugged. "It just ruined the mood."

"And for that I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise." She poured hot water into the pot and stirred in the tea.

"We haven't spoken about your sessions." He said gently. "I didn't want to intrude."

"You couldn't. You aren't. We just talk really – money for old rope." She smiled, then shrugged, "It's good to do that I suppose, but it's raised a lot of memories, things I'd forgotten about. My parents. Joe. And some days I can't empty my head of it all."

She turned in his arms, wrapping her hands around his waist, "And other days I get to spend my time with you planning our future home and I forget completely."

He brushed her hair back from her face, leant in to kiss her forehead. "You must talk to me, when things are tough."

"I don't want you to feel you have to try… to try and be my counsellor. It seems from the start you've been carrying this baggage I've brought with me and that's not fair."

"Well," he said, his throat choked up, "You carry me too. I'm not sure you even realise how introverted I was before you. Do you remember?"

"I remember I thought you painfully shy when we met. And maybe a wee bit rude…well, short."

He chuckled, "See. Mother complained I was dismissive of others and scared the customers off!"

"Well, you didn't scare me off." She rested her head against his chest. "Perhaps when we're away I'll feel more relaxed."

"Yes." He rubbed her back. "Wish we'd heard about this house though. I feel a little disappointed about it."

"They have my mobile number, they can call us in Italy as easily as they can call us here." She kissed him through his shirt, "Don't worry. If it's meant to be then it's meant to be. If not," she pulled her head back to look at him. "We're okay here aren't we? Happy enough?"

"Very much so." He hugged her close again, "Very, _very_ much so."

* * *

_Right, well that brings us right up-to-date ready for their next holiday. Phew! Hope you're still enjoying their journey. x_


	23. Chapter 23

_I've got to say as I was writing the airport stuff I thought - I could make this a weekly show, a 30 minute sitcom where all we do is see Charles and Elsie being all domestic in various places/situations. I think Jim &amp; Phyllis would be fab in it!_

_Apologies for any typos in this chapter - it's very late and my eyes are very heavy but I wanted to get it out there._

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**Italy**

They're at the airport. They've been at the airport sine 7:45 that morning. It's now lunchtime and Charles is starting to get agitated. When he got up and started pacing Elsie thought it best to distract him with food so fetched lunch from one of the cafes dotted about the place.

"Okay, so the closest I could get to a cheese and onion sandwich is this posh cheese and onion – I know it's not what you like," she shrugged, handing the sandwich across. "I've done my best."

"Thank you sweetheart." He moved his bag and she plonked herself down beside him. "What are you having?"

"Some fancy vegetarian thing – 'argi bargi', I thought it sounded fun."

He wrinkled his nose up, "What's wrong with decent, normal sandwiches?"

"People want exciting sandwiches I guess," she bent forward, tucking her bag between her feet so she could free up her hands and eat. "Style and show."

"Style and show gone too far," he said between a mouthful of sandwich.

"Yes, I can see it's really put you off."

He swallowed, "I'm starving, we need a proper meal."

"I know, but we can't just go sit in some restaurant, our luck we'd order and they'd call our flight."

"Ridiculous system. You get here at 8:00 in the morning, over two hours before we fly, only to learn there's a four hour delay anyway."

"It's the first day of the summer holidays, it's bound to be busy."

"Which was obviously a surprise to these clowns."

"Charles," she says gently, trying to hush him.

"Well… I need to rant."

"There's nothing we can do about it but wait. Or not go away and I want to, so tough, because I don't want to go without you."

He twists his head towards her, a lopsided smile on his face, watching her eating.

"What?" She asks, "Do you want to try this?"

"No. It's fine. Did you get drinks?"

"Yes, I've hidden them in my back pockets."

"You and that teacher sarcasm Mrs Hughes."

"There was a huge queue and I couldn't be bothered to wait, I'll go back."

"I'll go," he said, though remained exactly where he was.

"There's one thing, this delay means you've forgotten your nerves."

He sighed, "I suppose so." He scrunched up his sandwich box, "That wasn't half bad."

"Good. Do you want to rant about something else now?"

He paused for a moment, mulling it over. "No. I'm good."

She chuckled. "Get a different paper when you go for the drinks, I've read The Guardian and I packed my book for by the pool."

"I've brought three books and they're all in my suitcase. Oh, I'll tell you what my latest moan is."

She rolled her eyes, taking the second half of her sandwich out of the box. "Go on."

"Petrol stations, or rather their forecourts."

She leant back in her chair, stretching her legs out as she listened to him.

"They design them so cars can go either side, the pump is long enough to stretch around your vehicle should you not be able to park with your petrol cap directly next to the pump."

"Yes."

"So, why do I get stuck in a mile long queue in Sainsbury's because some stupid people insist on parking next to the pump, you know with the thing on their side. I made a big show of pipping my horn, pulling around this stupid woman and reversing into a space. Then pulling the hose around my car and proceeding to fill up. Made sure she saw too."

She was staring at him now, torn between laughing and shaking her head, "You do realise people, I would say especially women, wouldn't appreciate some middle aged guy annoyingly blasting his horn when you're all in the same queue."

"Then they should learn how to use the forecourt properly."

"Goodness Charles," she rubbed his knee. "It's a good job I know you. I'll go get the tea shall I?" She was getting to her feet.

"Thanks love. Hot chocolate for me."

"Oh no, you've had two already."

"It's the back bone of my day."

"That's that damned coffee machine getting you hooked, no more hot chocolate. Tea. And we can maybe share something sweet."

"You're bossy."

"It's in my nature," she leant forward and kissed his head. "Silly man, it's because I care."

He stared after her as she headed to the coffee stand, kept his eyes on her as she queued. She was wearing a blue and white striped dress and red jacket and he thought she resembled some elegant Parisian, and when she was walking back to him he found his eyes drawn to the curve of her breasts, the way her jacket seemed to accentuate them and there was stirring in his groin – he crossed his legs and breathed deeply.

"What's wrong?" She asked, handing him his tea.

"Nothing."

She sat down beside him again, "Oh damn, I forgot my paper. Will you go for me honey, I've been up twice?"

"I will, when I've had my tea."

"I want to read it as I drink," she was digging in her bag for her reading glasses. "It will only take you a second."

"I just need a minute."

"What ever for?"

"I can't say right now, but it has something to do with how good you look in that dress."

My dre–," she stared at him, glanced at his folded legs then giggled. "Oh, for goodness sake. You're old enough to know better."

"Shut up."

She put her glasses on, scanning the information leaflet in her hand. "Talk to me about something dull and it will take the edge off." She said lowly. "Or I could go sit elsewhere, if I'm so irresistible." She teased.

"Don't you dare." He huffed, sipped his tea and burnt his tongue. "I read something about bees and cocaine." He suddenly said.

"Here we go."

She slipped her glasses back off and settled back to listen.

"Apparently they're better at detecting the drug than sniffer dogs and much quicker to train. Literally you can get them to identify it relatively easily."

"Show them a picture and they're off?" She quipped.

"Nooo… You get them to identify it with sugar, mix the cocaine with sugar, which they easily detect and soon they get to the point where they sniff out cocaine because they think they'll be getting sugar."

"Hmm, interesting." She glanced to the ceiling, "Imagine all the bees buzzing about though, you wouldn't be able to eat your caramel slice."

He turned his head to her, "You got me a caramel slice?"

"Oh, yes, it's in my bag. To share," she added, snapping it in half. "And because I'm kind I'll let you have the bigger half."

"Thank you." He started munching on it. "I suppose the bees could be a hazard."

"You think?"

"Hmm. Any word from the estate agent?"

"Not when I last checked. No email. No text. No missed call." She patted his knee. "Don't worry, go with the whole 'no news is good news' vibe. We'll know soon enough."

"Not soon enough for my nerves. Are you going to get that bag?"

"I did like it. But it was very expensive."

"Use your bingo win."

"That's a good idea. I could spoil myself a little with an airport purchase."

He lifted his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, "You deserve it." He didn't add 'you've had a hell of a time of it' but the words lay there upon his tongue.

For a while they sat in silence, Elsie leant against his arm, holding the paper open in front of her as they both read it.

"We must look like two old fools," she said, waiting for him to finish an article. "Sitting here with our glasses on sharing a newspaper."

"Least we're not snogging in public." He said, indicating a young couple on the bench near the windows.

"You do realise that's illegal once you get to our age." She sniggered at his huffed reply.

He glanced over his glasses at her, "Don't tempt me." Then he grabbed her wrist, "The board's just changed."

"Is our flight on it?"

"Think so, get the tickets, we'll check. No damn announcement." He complained as she dug the tickets out of her bag, just as the announcer spoke over the intercom.

"Gate 11, off we go." She said, getting up, he was still holding her arm. "What?"

"I suddenly feel sick…"

* * *

It was late evening by the time they arrived at the villa and Elsie had a pounding headache.

She carried their bags through into the lounge area and set them down, searching through hers for painkillers.

Charles soon joined her, dragging in their cases.

"Lord above that was the journey from hell. How you feeling?"

"Terrible Like my head's going to explode."

"Go to bed, we can unpack tomorrow. I'll get you some water."

There were essentials in the fridge – water, milk, juice – and eggs and bread on the side.

"You hungry?" He asked, taking her the water.

She shook her head, "Right. Don't laugh at me."

"Why would I laugh when you're ill?"

She raised her eyebrows, eyed the pills in her hand warily before placing one on her tongue, tilting her head back and taking a huge gulp of water, closing her eyes and bouncing on her feet as she tried to swallow.

He chortled, but covered his mouth, he'd forgotten about her aversion to tablets.

"Gone?" He asked when she'd settled down.

"Yes. One more. And I said don't laugh. Turn around."

He did as she asked and started unpacking his bag, laying items out on the coffee table. "I'll have to give you the grand tour tomorrow," he said, "when it's light."

"A-ha. I like it though, I like it in here. Very rustic," she said wandering about the room. "And I especially like that there's a pool outside."

"Not huge but big enough for splashing about in. Bedroom's this way…" he led her through the building, it was all whitewashed walls and terracotta tiles and it felt cool compared to the evening heat outdoors.

"There's a twin room there, another one down the hall and the master is at the end." He pushed open the door, walking directly to the large patio windows. "Opens up to the pool see, barbeque area, it's not bad is it?"

"It's beautiful. I like it very much." She stood beside him, rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry though Charles, I've got to close my eyes."

"I know." He pulled the light curtains across, she was already undressing as he turned down the bed sheets.

"I don't even have the energy to even wash my face."

He tucked her in, kissing her forehead. "The en-suites to your left, right there," he pointed, "should you feel ill."

"Thank you." She mumbled, her eyes closed.

"I won't be long, I'll just go check things over and have a cup of tea."

She was already asleep.

* * *

Elsie lay on the lounger by the pool reading; they'd slept late then had breakfast on the patio and agreed they'd spend their first day resting. Though Charles had insisted they call Anna first to check she was doing okay in the shop – she was. And she was doing okay in their flat too.

Squinting she laid her book open on her stomach, looking around her. The view was magnificent, they were fairly high up in the valley and surrounded by greenery and it was wonderfully quiet. She hadn't realised how badly she'd needed peace and quiet until she was there.

"It's only a short walk to the lake, if you want to go later." Charles said, turning the page on his book.

"When it's cooler," she said. "I might have a swim."

"You know, I might join you." He put his book aside, got up and stretched. He did look mighty good in those trunks. Sitting up she watched as he moved to the edge of the pool and dived in, emerging clear across the other side.

"Come on then, the water's lovely."

She dropped her legs over the side of the bed, "I can't do all that diving nonsense."

"Just get in," he said, already doing lengths down the pool.

She used the steps, dipping her toe in at first and then swimming from the edge across to the opposite side.

"That is good." She did around six lengths before stopping where he leant against the side.

"I think you've caught the sun here," he said, tenderly touching her shoulders.

"Oh, my damn pale skin. All my freckles will be out."

"They already are," he kissed her nose. "Want to learn how to dive?"

"It's not really me," she said, screwing up her face. "But you could teach me how to front crawl."

"Fair enough."

"Do a little demonstration first for me so I get the idea." She stood back, watching as he set off. "Hey!"

He got to his feet again. "What?"

"Not so fast, I can't see the movement."

He set off again, deliberately slowing his stroke and making a show of it.

"Ha, bloody ha. Okay, I get the idea. Splash, splash, splash. Gonna have to put my head under."

"Afraid your mascara will run?" He teased, deliberately splashing her.

She returned it hitting the water with the side of her hand, "I'm au naturel today, as I thought you might have noticed. Didn't seem a reason for showy make-up when it's just the two of us lounging around. You've seen me in all states now, no backing out."

"Wouldn't try. What are you doing?"

"Hankering down, like you did."

"You need to stretch your body out," he reached to hold her torso and she gasped, giggled then pulled away from him.

"You know I'm ticklish there."

He sniggered, "Must have forgotten."

"Like hell you did," she splashed him again. "Shall I mess with your sensitive bits when you're trying to swim?"

"Are you being risqué Mrs Hughes…?"

"Not intentionally. Now, try again. I need instructions."

She listened and watched as he demonstrated and explained, so used to being the teacher not the student she realised how damn hard it was to concentrate and focus on every bit of information.

"Okay, you need to bring your stomach up a little," he bent over her, smiling, "I am going to touch you now Elsie, don't freak out."

"Oh bugger off."

Smiling he pressed his hand against her stomach, pushing her up in the water, "That's it, maintain that line, swing your arm up and over…"

She did as he said and whacked him straight in the side of the head, knocking him back in the water.

"Oh god," she scrambled to her feet. "Oh I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He was holding his jaw and treading water as he backed into the middle of the pool and she went after him.

"I hurt you…"

He flexed his jaw as she got closer, "Just a little. It's alright now."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She gently, tentatively touched his chin. "Think you'll be okay?"

"I should hope so, it might interfere with my kissing technique though. And I was hoping to get lucky this holiday."

"Were you indeed?"

His hands were already sliding around her waist. "Hmm, I was."

She tiptoed her fingers up his arm and over his shoulders, "Want to see if it still works then?"

"Just a little practise might be good."

"Mmm, just a little…"

She was smiling as she touched her lips to his, giggling when he groaned elaborately in agony.

"Want me to stop?" She said, swaying her body against his.

"Just try it again, just to see."

Her mouth was trembling with laughter when they kissed again, until he deepened it – weeks of longing pouring out – and his hands had slid down her back to grip her bottom.

They were turning in the water as they kissed, slowly, no need to rush. No outside noise or worries or concerns.

"Are you relaxed?" He whispered by her ear, kissing up her face.

"Yes. Finally." She squeezed his shoulders. "I didn't realise how much I needed to be alone with you."

He felt his chest flutter and he held her tighter, lifting her legs up to circle his waist as they moved fluidly in the water, the early afternoon sun on their bodies.

"I realised how much I need to be alone with you." He kissed her again, deeply now, his tongue finding hers, until she was moaning softly into his mouth.

"Take me to bed," she murmured between kisses.

* * *

He was hovering over her, doing his best to hold back, to exercise restraint – and it had all been going so well but the minute they were naked and in bed the mood shifted. Once again he was on the edge of immersing himself in the pleasure of her body and she was frustrated.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered by his ear as he smothered her neck in kisses, "I don't mind." She rubbed his back.

"I mind," he pulled out, his body already complaining at the loss of her heat. "And besides we haven't finished yet."

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as his mouth moved over her, stretching her arms above her head. He was between her thighs, gently touching, stroking, realising how sensitive she was, remembering just what she liked.

When her moans deepened he sensed a shift in her and slid back up her body and she kissed him hungrily. He rolled onto his back, holding her hips as he encouraged her on top of him.

She leant forward, never breaking the kiss, rubbing against him, teasing herself as much as him. She wanted this so badly, maybe that was the problem, she was trying too hard.

Rolling back she altered the angle and let her fingers wander between their bodies, guiding him inside her.

He sucked in a tight breath, his hips jerking up of their own accord, filling her completely and she took her time in moving, rising and falling on him, rolling her hips, her pelvis.

"Oh god Els, wait…" he said suddenly, gripped her hips, stilling her movements, "Wait, wait…"

She bent forward; the movement making him gasp loudly, "I don't want to wait." She whispered, wobbling her hips, "It feels so good."

He closed his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek as she moved above him, holding onto her hips, holding himself back until she was moaning his name, a keening sound tumbling from her lips. And he recognised the tone. And he recognised the tightening of her body, the joy as she flooded him with heat.

"Elsie!" He gasped, his hips jerking upward, unable to hold back any longer.

"Yes," she breathed and then it merged into a mangled garble of names and endearments and agonising moans as finally, finally, she climaxed – and he wasn't far behind. It seemed to her that it went on an eternity, the rolling of her hips, the tremors of pleasure shooting through her, crawling through her body, rendering her soft and languid. And his hands holding her waist, his eyes transfixed on her face as she melted in front of her. She fell forward slowly, her palms hitting the pillow by his head.

"Oh, oh, oh…" she smiled, giggling.

"I felt that," he mumbled, kissing her face, delighted.

"_Believe me_, so did I!" She twisted her face, meeting his mouth. "Thank god. Oh thank you."

He slid his hand into her hair, "Thank me? Thank you."

She nuzzled his nose, joyful in their shared intimacy. "Yes, thank you. You're wonderful."

His hands were stroking up her spine, "You are," their lips teasing, touching, "Let's not move from this position." He sighed happily, closing his eyes.

"Oh I was rather hoping we might try it again."

He smirked, "Just give me ten minutes alright."

She was smirking as she slid down his body, her mouth working over his chest. "Not sure I have that long…"

* * *

Elsie slept after. Collapsed and curled at his side, her head on his stomach. He sat leant back against the cool wall, stroking her hair, thanking whatever had brought her into his life.

When he tried to think back on what life was like before her he couldn't even recall what he'd done with his time. Years and years of loneliness – self-enforced isolation – attending parties and Christmases and Birthdays on his own and pretending that was okay because why would he want to be tied down to a relationship, to trying to make things work as a couple when he could simply please himself?

And now she was with him and he realised how short-sighted and foolish he'd been. There was nothing better than this, nothing more precious.

He eyed the clock as his stomach rumbled, almost five, he wanted to cook for her, make something good.

Resting her head on the pillow he slid from the bed, dressed and left her a note before walking down to the small town square.

It took him an hour to walk there and back and when he returned she was still sleeping. He prepared the base of the tomato sauce (garlic, oil, chilli) and the fresh pasta he'd bought from a local. He was just pouring the wine, savouring the deep, rich red, when she came in, soft and pink and mussed from sleep.

"Hi," she said, sliding her hands around his waist and resting her head against his back.

"Hello beautiful, that was a good sleep."

"I must be making up for months of early mornings." She kissed him through his shirt. "This smells good. Can I help?"

"You can slice the bread if you like."

"Will do." She rolled up the sleeves of her robe and started slicing. "It smells delicious."

"I got it just down the road, we can walk tomorrow if you like, they have a few shops but we'll have to drive into a bigger town if you want to really shop."

"I'm happy pottering about for a few days, a walk down there tomorrow sounds nice. Where are the plates?"

"Above you, that cupboard."

As she stretched the top of her robe fell open and he gasped, "Mrs Hughes, you're naked under there."

"I just got up." She smiled, "And besides my shoulders ache from the sun, I couldn't stand to put my bra back on."

"Having never worn one I'll take your word for it."

"They're almost as bad as tights and heels – they look kinda sexy but after walking round in them all day the sex-appeal has definitely worn off."

He was chuckling as he served the pasta, carrying their dishes to the table as she followed with the wine.

"Shall we toast?" she said, lifting up her glass.

"Absolutely. To… a wonderful holiday?" He tapped her glass with his.

"How about, to Charles Carson, my rock this year."

He smiled warmly, "Happy to be."

After dinner they sat and talked at the table until the sun had set – he told her of the trips he'd taken there during his teenage years with Violet, and later with Richard and Isobel, he always the odd one out with the young lovebirds.

They washed the dishes side-by-side at the sink, listening to the radio, Elsie singing along to the songs she knew, swaying in time to the ones she didn't.

"You want to take a walk?" He said, drying up the last plate.

"Now?"

"Yes, why not. We could walk to the lake, it's ten minutes at best."

"I'd have to get dressed."

"Just put a dress on over the top."

"Charles Carson! I'll be naked, that's scandalous."

"And a huge turn on." He said, nudging her hip with his. "Live a little Elspeth."

"You've changed." She laughed. "I had to beg you to get into that pool in Dubai after hours."

"What can I say – it's been a good day, I'm a little tipsy and I spent the afternoon in bed with you."

"You can just say – and I finally got laid again, I won't take offence."

"Oh really!" He said, swiping at some errant bubbles on the counter and sending them in her direction.

They were both laughing together as she grabbed a handful from the bowl and wiped them down his nose.

"Very adult Elsie." He shook his head. "Go put something on, let's go."

* * *

He's right, the walk barely takes them ten minutes and the path is hardly difficult – she's in flip-flops and is fine. Though she isn't quite so sure about the walk back up the hill.

He knows a clearing by the water, where he used to come down with Richard and the canoe as boys. And once there the greenery opens up, the lake still and flat, and the moon reflecting off of it. As Elsie stares down the water there's a point on the horizon where she can't tell if it's lake or sky she's looking at.

"It's very beautiful here," she says, slipping off her flip-flops. It's a warm night and she sheds her cardigan and leaves it over a low hanging branch, stepping into the water and sighing as it tickles her toes.

"Come on then," she says without turning and he's already bending to remove his shoes and rolling up his trousers.

The water is warm around his ankles, maybe just above them, probably up to her shins, he thinks, sometimes he forgets how much shorter she is, different without heels.

"I should have brought my camera down."

"We can come again tomorrow."

He's standing beside her, looking out at the view, and turns to watch as a bird skims the surface, disappearing out of sight. He catches her expression, serene and still, like the water itself.

Taking her hand he moves behind her, drawing her body flush against his – she still smells of sex and the bed they'd shared and he closes his eyes breathing her in. He's got his chin on her head, arms around her and they're staring at the clearest night sky he thinks he's ever seen.

"Tell me about the stars," she whispers, afraid if she speaks louder she'll somehow break the mood.

He can easily point out constellations, he's spent so much time there over the years it's second nature. She listens attentively, quietly, pointing up at some things to ask questions and he alternates between talking and kissing her cheek, the side of her neck, the back of her head. She smells so good and it's so nice to be alone with her without all of the other distractions the world brings.

"I love you," he says quietly into her hair, happily, squeezing her tight to him, swaying her in his arms, listening to the water move about their feet. It's been so long since he's said the words, doing his level best not to rush her, not to push or bully, he knows how hard the therapy has been, can only imagine the things it's brought up – and he's never wanted to make her feel forced into it. "I love you," he says again, clearer now, breathing the words out into the night air by her ear.

He feels her breathe in, her chest move, then out again as she exhales and her heart is thudding beneath his palm.

"I love you too." She says simply. The words come naturally, she didn't even have to consider saying them in the end, they were just there.

He freezes, grips her body and turns her quickly so he can see her face, "What did you just say?"

"Don't embarrass me." She looks away, glancing to the floor then over his shoulder to the clearing and the lake.

He turns her fully to face him, his hands on her shoulders, "I promise I won't. But if I say, I love you Elsie…" His face is pale, concerned, eyes wide as if in shock.

"Then I say… _I love you too_." She says, touching his cheek with her fingertips.

He's shocked, delirious, overwhelmed… "You love me? You actually love me, not just being nice?"

"Charles…"

"No, but I have to know that, I… You love me, you're saying that?"

"Yes." She circles her arms around him and pulls him close, "Yes."

"Just now, you just realised it?"

"No, for a while. A long time."

"You didn't bloody well say?"

She chuckles, "I wanted to be absolutely sure. Not of you, I am sure of you, but of myself. I wanted to be sure of my own feelings, separate my feelings for you from everything else – does that make sense?"

He nods, afraid if he speaks he'll cry.

"You can say it again though, if you like."

She smiles, leaning forward to kiss him, then whispering by his mouth, "I love you."

* * *

They walk back hand-in-hand to the villa. Charles knows he's grinning like a fool but he can't help it. It's one thing to suspect she loved him, to hope, to draw out little nuances of feeling from what she said. But to actually be told it – three times no less in less than two minutes – is overwhelming.

His heart doesn't seem to want to come down from the high.

He thinks he'll make love to her again, tenderly and reverently, long into the night. That he'll hold her and whisper of his devotion and deep, deep love for her. And for the first time she'll repeat it. Return it.

But when they get in it feels chilly and he lights a fire. She's curled on the sofa in front of it and he fetches the half bottle of wine they have left and digs out a blanket from the cupboard. He considers switching the lamp on but the golden glow of the fire is light enough and the mood is perfect.

He hands her the blanket as he sets about pouring the wine, standing at the other side of the coffee table as he pours. The wine is almost spilt as she lifts the dress from her body, over her head, and throws it over the back of the sofa. He'd forgotten she was naked… he'd damn well forgotten.

She looks like perfection to him. All pale skin and the light from the fire flickering over her; her nipples are peaked from the night-time walk and she shivers as she pulls the blanket around her.

"You're over dressed." She smiles, leaning back.

"You're perfection," he replies, already pushing down his trousers. "Do you realise that?"

She's chuckling, turning slightly, moving cushions in order to get comfy, and the blanket slips to her waist.

"You have the most perfect breasts." He says, throwing his shirt aside, eagerly moving to join her. Bending, kissing each one, his palms sliding up to cup them. "So beautiful."

"I don't know how to respond to that." She smiles, one hand sliding into his hair, tugging on the strands. "I should return the compliment."

"Mmm," he suckles on her left nipple and she gasps, her head falling back. "Compliment away."

She breathes deeply, "Come sit on here," she encourages, her hand on his shoulders, and he moves to sit with her on the sofa, one leg tucked beneath the other.

She gets to her knees so she's in front of him, forcing him to lean back, leaning on top of his chest to kiss him. "You have very beautiful eyes," She teases, suckling on his lower lip. "And the most magnificently talented hands," she giggles as his fingers find the sensitive spot on her waist.

"Mmm," she's moving over him, her mouth working down his neck, his chest, hands trailing lower, catching the silken warmth of his erection in her palm. "And just delicious…" her voice trails off as she moves lower and he shuts his eyes as her tongue does things to him he never dreamed possible.

* * *

Later they lay curled up on the sofa, her back to his chest, facing the dying fire, half wrapped in the thick blanket.

"When did you know for sure?" He whispers by her ear, aware she's almost asleep.

She sighs, "I knew from quite early on that this wasn't just some fling. Before Christmas, maybe late November. Then I got scared, after New Year, it was so nice being there with you and I remember thinking I'd like to spend every New Year with you."

"I thought that too," he's kissing her shoulder, can feel her thumb rubbing his arm as it lies over her.

"I didn't know how to handle those feelings so I figured if I backed off they'd just disappear. Only they didn't. So I backed off even more. And when we got home from the Easter break and weeks went by without you talking to me…" she closes her eyes suddenly, recalling the moment in the car listening to that song.

"You sent me that song and I was crying as I drove to work and I missed you. I just missed you. I think I probably knew then."

Its months ago and he feels sad that so long has passed with those feelings held inside.

"When did you know?" She asks, her eyelids heavy.

"The first moment I met you." He kissed the back of her head.

"Don't tease."

"The first moment you smiled at me in the shop. The first moment you spoke to me. The first time I touched your skin when your hand touched mine passing a book across the counter. The first time I smelled you. Tasted you. My heart was lost."

She wiggles, turns in his arms, her eyes watery, "I promise to take good care of it from now on." She says gently, snuggling against him. "Because it's very precious to me."

* * *

_Well, from the reviews I've read I think many of you have been waiting for that moment for a long time - - I sincerely hoped it lived up to expectations... x_


	24. Chapter 24

_Sorry for the couple of days wait for this - it's been a busy week! A lot of this was from my memory of places in Lake Garda so apologies if you spot any errors!_

_And for the last scene I was listening to a bit of Janet Jackson to set the scene ;-) It might be a nice accompaniment to the moment: _ watch?v=xlYP_WcS6xg

* * *

**Chapter 24**

**Italy – Day 5**

Charles woke disorientated. His head felt thick and the sunlight coming through the gap in the curtains pricked his eyeballs like hot pokers. He pulled the sheet up over his face, turned and wobbled on the edge of the bed – hovering precariously, just for a moment – before tumbling forward and smashing into the floor.

"What the hell?" Elsie exclaimed, rushing through from the bathroom, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. "What are you doing?" She mumbled, standing over his naked body.

"I think I'm dead." He groaned, trying to lift his arm and failing.

"Just a sec," she returned to the bathroom, quickly rinsed her mouth then went back to help him. "What on earth were you doing?" She asked, sliding her hand under his arm and gripping his bicep.

"Turning over," he huffed, "forgot where I was."

"You've been throwing yourself about the bed all night." She complained, lifting him into a sitting position. "There, better?"

"My head feels like a brick."

She placed her hand on his forehead, "I told you not to drink that bloody cocktail they brought out for you, it was lethal, and you had to have three."

"Thought I could take my drink."

"You sip a sherry in the evenings dear, you're hardly onto the hard stuff." She tentatively touched his arm. "I'm afraid you're going to have a bruise here. I'll get you some cream. You going back to bed?"

He nodded, leaning against her to push himself up. "Oohhh I'm dying…" He whined.

She couldn't help but chuckle as she helped him lay back down. "I'll go get you some tablets – you want to try and eat something?"

"Toast."

"I can manage that. We have about three hours before we're getting picked up for this trip."

"Lord above, the thought of coach travel."

She rolled her eyes, "Like a child."

When he'd swallowed two aspirin, drunk two glasses of water and a glass of juice the haze started to clear.

"Here you go," she said, bringing in his tea and toast.

"Where's yours?"

"In the kitchen. I was going to sit outside and check my emails."

"Come sit here with me, don't leave me on my own when I'm injured." He pouted.

"Honestly, you got drunk and fell out of bed and I'm playing bloody nursemaid…" she mumbled as she returned to the kitchen.

"I wouldn't mind if you want to dress up as one though."

"As what?" She asked, coming to sit beside him on the bed.

"A nurse." he said, chewing a mouthful of toast. "You know, one of those little white dresses…"

"I don't actually think nurses wear things like that. More like starchy dresses and heavy clogs."

"I'd prefer the other type when you to do it."

"Well, I'm not doing it so you don't have to worry."

"Mean. If I'm ill you should grant my requests."

"Well you're not ill, you're obviously feeling much better the way you've wolfed down that toast."

"Can I have some more please miss?" He said, holding his plate towards her.

"If you go have a shower I'll get you more toast."

He lifted his arm around her and groaned, "Ow. That's still tight."

"You're too old to be throwing yourself out of bed." She kissed his arm. "Once you've had your shower I'll rub some cream into it."

"You do take care of me."

"I know." She reached for her mug of tea. "So, this nurse thing, is this a fantasy for the list?"

He chuckled, "Not really, just popped into my head. What did we do last night when we got home?"

"Nothing!" She laughed. "You were almost comatose, you collapsed on the bed and were snoring away within two minutes. I had to undress you and you kept trying to kick me."

"I apologise," he cleared his throat, "how embarrassing."

"Well, you can't be perfect all the time."

"I guess not. You know we only have one thing on the fantasy list – your sunflowers."

"Yes…"

"We should try to at least fulfil it."

"And what if the reality doesn't live up to the fantasy…?"

"I'll make sure it does." He said, waggling his eyebrows at her

"Promises. Promises." She sighed as she got up. "I'm going to get dressed, go have your shower, I don't want to miss this bus. I'm looking forward to this little day trip."

"Verona is beautiful."

"I can't wait to see the arena. And Juliet's balcony. And I'm going to have pistachio ice-cream and sit in the sunshine to enjoy it."

"Nice plan, mind if I join you?"

"You can tag along." She shrugged.

She'd just pulled on her dress and was clipping her hair up when she heard her phone ringing. It had been days since she'd used it and it took her a while to pinpoint its location (hidden in the bottom of her handbag in the closet).

"Hello," she said, the line weak, no reply. "Hello?" She said a little louder and Charles poked his head around the bathroom door.

"What's wrong?" He mouthed and she shrugged.

"Can you hear me?" She asked, moving to the patio doors and going outside. "Oh, I can hear you now. Yes, hello. It's beautiful out here thank you. Yes, very hot."

Charles sat on the bed pulling on his socks and listening to her side of the conversation. From her tone it didn't sound good news and he prayed it wasn't either Anna (burning down his shop!) or an illness with Beryl or her work colleagues or… he daren't even consider the possibility it could be Joe.

Breathing deeply she returned to the bedroom, Charles was dressed and putting on cologne.

"Well?" He asked.

"I'll tell you as we walk, otherwise we'll be late for the bus."

She collected her bag, sunglasses and a light shawl ad they set off down the hill towards the square.

"It was the estate agent calling about my last… our last offer."

"It doesn't sound good news." He said, digging his hands into his pockets.

She reached over and pulled his left hand out, closing her fingers around his.

"Don't get sulking."

"I knew we should have stayed home."

"It wouldn't make any difference, they can still call us here. What he said was that this lady who's selling it, the one whose sister the house belonged to who died…"

"Yes, yes."

"Don't get impatient." She squeezed his fingers. "Well, she's willing to sell to us – thinks we sound decent, we aren't planning to knock it down and use the land to put up new builds."

"Heaven forbid!" He said, scandalised by the very suggestion.

"But, she wants the asking price, she said she's already reduced it for a quick sale and it's worth every penny."

"And she's right and we'll pay it."

"No we won't." She slowed her steps as they neared the group of people waiting for the bus, fellow tourists.

"Why not?"

"Because it's too much."

"We can afford it."

"No, you can, I can't – there's a difference."

"Oh, that's silly." He said waving his hand.

"We can't talk about it now, we'll talk about it later when we're sat somewhere quiet."

"I really want that house Elsie." He said sternly. She didn't reply, just let go of his hand as she climbed the steps up onto the coach.

* * *

It took over an hour to reach their destination and she was glad Charles snoozed on the journey, hoping it would improve both his headache and moody temperament.

She watched the passing views, settled back against his arm and enjoyed the closeness, the fact she had somebody there whom she could lean against. He'd been on a high ever since she'd said those three little words – finally – and if she were honest with herself she'd been the same. There was something liberating about saying it and she felt lighter than she had in years. Their activities the following day – a walk to the small town, planning and bookings for trips they wanted to take – had all been slotted in around going back and forth to their bed.

She smiled bashfully to herself at that; who knew that at their age they could still enjoy such an active sex life! But if anything her finally opening up to him had brought them closer and there was something almost primal in their need to physically express those deep-rooted feelings.

Last night they'd eaten rich food at an outdoor restaurant and danced in the warm night, a local band providing the entertainment, and the square had been bustling, locals and tourists alike enjoying the alfresco dancing.

Then Charles had been tempted to try the local cocktail – she'd warned him not to, he took no notice and within an hour was barely coherent. She was glad she'd stuck to the wine otherwise god knows where they'd be now! A few of hundred euros worse off on a wasted trip to Verona and unused tickets for the Arena.

Charles moaned by her ear, his arm sliding around her waist as he snuggled against her; she felt his fingers flex against her stomach and she placed her hand atop of his, tapping his fingers gently. She didn't want him getting carried away on the coach.

"Honey," she whispered, nudging him slightly with her shoulder. "We're almost there."

He huffed by her ear, slowly shaking himself awake.

"We'll get tea when we get there," she said, handing him a bottle of water from her bag. "Then go wandering. I'd like to see the Arena by daylight… do you mind, my making plans?"

He shook his head, he'd visited many times over the years and he was happy just to let her enjoy it.

"Are you feeling better?" She asked as the coach pulled into a space.

"Much, head's clearing."

"Good."

"Terrible taste in my mouth though," he said, twisting his tongue against his cheek, it felt thick and heavy.

"Here." She said, handing him a packet of mints.

"You're so much the organised teacher it's scary."

"Just be glad I'm not giving you a worksheet to complete as we wander around."

* * *

They climbed the steps up to the top of the Arena, it was hot and Charles had his jacket draped over his arm and was wiping his brow by the time he met her at the top.

"Thank goodness for that breeze," he said as he leant back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Give me your jacket," she said, taking it from him and hanging it over her bag. She took a bottle of water out and placed it into his hand. "And take a drink."

"I'm not always great in the heat."

"And me Scottish." She giggled, glancing around her, doing a full 360 as she took in the sights of the town. "What a magnificent view. Oh Verona!" She sang and he rolled his eyes.

"Not great with heights neither honey."

She hooked her arm through his, "That's my word, you use your own! And you managed the helicopter ride in Dubai, you were very brave."

"I was trying to impress you." He shrugged.

She chuckled, "It worked… Hey, does that mean I don't need impressing anymore?"

"I've _got_ you now." He teased, stroking his fingertip down her bare arm.

She stood directly in front of him, slipping his sunglasses off, "Have you indeed?" She leant close in, as if to kiss him, and he felt his stomach jolt and his skin prickle in anticipation. But she stopped just short of his lips. "If you take a look around I'll reward you and buy lunch."

"I'd rather get a kiss." He said lowly.

"Oh, I'm sure you would…"

She slid his glasses back on and walked off along the edge, planning on doing the full circuit of the arena from the very top. She glanced back over her shoulder a couple of metres later and watched as he took a good look around the city before following her.

"I'm really looking forward to tonight," he said, enthused as he watched the stage preparations taking place. "It's years since I've seen Don Giovanni, and never anywhere as wonderful as a real arena like this, I hope the weather holds."

"I'm sure it will. I've never seen it," she said, pausing as she waited for young children to run past them. "And I have no idea what to expect. I know its Mozart and based on Don Juan." She set off walking again.

"First performed in 1787," Charles said behind her and she listened carefully as they walked, impressed by his knowledge. They were about three-quarters of the way around the top and she was beginning to feel the heat and long for shade and a cold drink. "It blends comedy, melodrama and supernatural elements." He added.

She paused, glanced back at him and he chuckled as she noted the guidebook in his hand. She swiped at him with her shawl, "Oh, I thought you were being very clever!"

"I'm a very clever reader."

"Come on, I need a limonata!"

* * *

In the early afternoon Elsie got her ice cream – a scoop of pistachio, a scoop of vanilla, in a cup – and they found a bench in the piazza to sit and eat. Charles was soon regretting choosing a cone as his chocolate concoction was already dripping down his hand before they'd even sat down. He leant forward, letting the ice-cream drip to the floor if need be.

"This is the best ice cream I've ever had in my life." She said. "It's delicious."

"It is good."

"It's better than sex!"

"I wouldn't go quite that far," he chuckled, glancing up at her. "Can we talk about the house now?"

She sighed, "That means we talk about money and that isn't very romantic and we're in Verona…."

"Don't sing it again! And if we have to talk about money then let's just do it. The bottom line is I can afford it, let me buy it."

"No."

"Why not?" He turned on the bench, licking the remaining ice cream from his fingers.

"Because if – or rather when – we buy somewhere to live I want to do it together, fifty-fifty. And I can't afford it, which is slightly embarrassing in this situation but also me being honest. With what I have from my house sale years ago and my wage I can stretch to one-third of that price."

"Then let me pay the other two-thirds."

She shook her head, "No Charles. It isn't fair. You don't sell two houses in Europe to buy this place in Yorkshire for me. I can't accept it."

"But I want to." He reached to touch her hand. "I want to live there with you, take care of you." He feels her fingers flex beneath his as she breathes deeply and looks away. "And you see that as a negative!"

"No, no I don't." she looked back at him, turning her hand over so her palm touched his. "I know you mean it in a kind, sweet way. But I just don't want us to go into this feeling like I owe something…"

He shook his head, frustrated.

"Listen… I've never had my independence until I lived in that apartment. I've never made my own decisions about my money. And now I can, and I would happily spend all my savings purchasing this place for us but I just don't see how it's fair for you to pay more."

"I get that. And I don't want to try and control you or use this as some bargaining tool. But Elsie," he leant closer to her, so he could see her eyes through her sunglasses, "Els, I did nothing to get these properties, I inherited them, I didn't work for them, I don't manage them – I just get paid. Or rather I did. And now they've sold and I have that money because of how canny my mother was and this is what I want to do with it."

"I really don't want to think about begging for a mortgage at my age, I want to start thinking about winding down over the next ten years."

"I don't want you to take a loan because you don't need to. Think of it this way – you're the one of us who earns a good, steady wage every month. It's that which would be paying our bills – food, heating, water, electricity, bloody council tax! Because what I get can be erratic, I have to plan ahead. I want to buy this place outright and spend the rest of our lives living in it – then leave it for Anna when we're gone."

She slid her glasses off, her mouth open, "You'd really want to do that?"

"Of course," it seems so simple to him. "I love you both."

"Oh… Charles, just when I think you can't surprise me anymore." She leant against him, holding his hand, "How a man who has such great capacity to love lived alone for most of his life I have no idea."

He shrugged, "Didn't have anybody _to_ love."

Her eyes crinkled, "Oh baby," and she pulled him into a hug, stroking his back.

"You promised you'd never call me that." He said formally by her ear and she laughed.

"I did didn't I." Pulling back slightly she kissed him. "I'll think about it. We can discuss it more tonight."

"That's fair enough." He said gently.

She had such an overwhelming rush of emotion for him, the slightly shy yet hopeful expression, the simplicity with which he saw things. There wasn't an ounce of selfishness or malice in him.

Smiling she kissed him again, stroking his face, "And you have me to love you now."

He returned the smile, his hand on her hip, thumb stroking in small circles. "Well, that's all I ever wanted."

* * *

They spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering around Via Mazzini, dipping in and out of shops – Elsie bought a scarf for Beryl, a new purse for Anna and debated over a dress for herself.

Charles left her mulling over this very thing as she went back into the changing rooms for the third time and he disappeared outside. They'd passed a shop earlier and something in the window had caught his eye.

The idea of purchasing it and grown throughout the afternoon until the point where he'd convinced himself he simply had to have it. He'd give it to her over dinner, a romantic moment with candlelight and wine and they were in Verona – how much more romantic could it possibly get?

They ate at an outdoor restaurant – Charles avoided alcohol – and shared tiramisu for dessert.

"You know someone once told me that tiramisu was created especially by lusty Italian women," she whispered, the pair of them leaning towards the middle of their table, their spoons meeting in the bowl.

"Oh? For what purpose?"

"Coffee is an aphrodisiac…"

"Yes….?" He licked the cream from his spoon.

"And so it keeps things 'up' if you get my meaning."

He chuckled, holding her gaze, her twinkling eyes and slightly naughty expression.

"I think I understand." He smiled.

"Do you think we have time for coffee before the opera?" She asked, putting down her spoon.

"I don't think I need any but…" he glanced at his watch. "We have time."

He ordered cappuccinos and they giggled over the strength, like teenagers on discovering an unsavoury word in the dictionary.

"So, I got something for you." He said, reaching for his jacket that hung on his chair and taking a small blue box from the inside pocket.

She gasped internally, bit her tongue as she tried to swallow her coffee quickly, unsure of how to act, momentarily unsteady, her heart suddenly alive and full – reminding her of its presence as it thudded in her ear. Was he really going to…?

"I saw it earlier and I thought it pretty and that you'd… you'd like it…anything wrong, you've gone very pale?"

"No, no nothing. Too much caffeine." She reached for her glass of water.

"So, here you go." He slid the box across the table to her – the familiar shade of blue, the silver 'Tiffany' lettering upon the lid.

"Charles. This will be expensive, we didn't even go into that store because of that very reason."

"I know but I want you to have it."

She sighed, put down her napkin and gently lifted the lid of the box – inside, a beautiful silver heart on a chain, and beside it a rose-gold key.

"See, I thought that it could symbolise you and I buying a house together." He said hopefully, buying jewellery for a woman was always an unknown.

She found she could breathe again, "Yes. I suppose it could." She gently took it from the box and lifted it around her neck. "Or giving you the key to my heart." She smiled smugly, "If we want to be a cliché."

"I have no issue at all with that."

She squeezed his hand across the table, "Thank you, it's beautiful, and I only bought you ice cream."

"But it was good ice cream."

"True. I do think we should get a ball for the pool though, they had them in the shops we walk past on our way home."

"How old are we?"

"As old as we feel! We can play volleyball and get competitive. Good exercise too."

"I'd rather exercise in other ways."

"Mr Carson, indeed." But she was smiling and rubbing his fingers with hers. "Shall we get the bill?"

Outside the night was cooling and the summer breeze whipped her skirt around her legs. She pulled him close outside the door and kissed him soundly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome darling." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "Ready to be entertained."

"Oh very much so, you have the tickets?"

"I do, centre aisle. In front of the stage."

"Let's go then." She hooked her arm through his, felt his hand resting on her back and let him lead her back down the winding streets to the arena.

* * *

The swell of the music and the overwhelming atmosphere remained with Charles long after they'd exited and found their seats on the couch. He found himself replaying the entire thing in his mind and knew if they hadn't been in company he'd have been singing out-loud.

It was late and quite dark and the journey seemed somewhat muted with no scenery to guide them. Elsie had the window seat but within ten minutes of the journey had turned from it and burrowed against his arm, finding a comfy spot and closing her eyes.

He thought she smelt of summer nights; air still warm from the sun, laughter and spritzers and strawberries and cream. He kissed her head, his arm stretched around her back, the tiny key dangling forward and swinging upon the chain with the motion of the coach.

He was quite determined they'd have that house. And tonight he'd convince her – though he wasn't quite sure how yet, but he thought earlier that she'd almost said yes, certainly she'd been moving towards it.

When they'd been dropped off and walked back to the villa – Elsie barefoot after a very long day in sandals – it was way past midnight and their eyes were heavy.

"I'll make tea," he said, "whilst you go wash your feet, you can't get into bed with them like that!"

"Yes sir," she yawned. "Unless I sleep on the couch."

"Don't even think it."

He was singing when she came back from the bathroom, she'd changed into her nightwear and he looked her up and down appreciatively as the silk of her gown swung around her legs.

"I recognise that," he said, bringing their tea into the lounge.

"Not been out of the drawer since Dubai. I found it when I packed to move to your flat."

He went to sit on the couch, "Don't put it away again… what are you doing?"

She had a pad of paper in her hand and was sitting at the dining table, "You want to talk about the house, get things sorted, otherwise I know you won't sleep right and I can't do with another restless night of you tossing and turning. So, let's sit down and thrash this out." She said seriously, sliding her glasses on and unscrewing the lid from her pen. "Come on, have a seat."

"I feel like I'm in a court of law." He said grimly, pulling the chair out opposite her. "And I'm still in the throes of joy for that outstanding performance."

"I did enjoy it. The entire atmosphere of that place is incredible, and the acoustics."

"I know… we should go see something else whilst we're here." His voice rose in excitement.

"We can't go splashing our money about if you want this house. And if we're going to do this we do it fairly and sensibly. We can't just give our bodies and our hearts to each other, we have to do all the boring stuff too."

He grinned, tapping his hands against his tea cup and she looked up from the list she was drawing up.

"What?"

"You. Giving me your body _and_ your heart."

"Oh, you know what I mean. If this is a relationship then I'm afraid we have to do all of the practical, dull elements."

"I don't mind that, makes it real."

"Hmm, so here is the price." She wrote it at the top of the page and beneath made two lists – _Charles, Elsie_. "And I think I can sensibly put in this much." She put the number at the top of her column. "And you…" she slid the paper across to him and he scribbled his number.

"Why aren't you a Doctor with handwriting like that?" She tutted, though staring hard at the number he'd put down. "Charles, that's an awful lot."

"It's what I can afford."

She bit her lip, "Okay, well we both know if we buy it we'll want to do things. Kitchen, bathrooms etc. So how much do you think for all that?"

"The electrics need doing throughout, and I'd be happier if we got all the water pipes done at the same time and damp proofing before we even think of putting in a kitchen or decorating."

"See, you can be sensible about it. So how much?"

"Well, based on what the little shop cost me I reckon…" he scribbled another number beneath his last one. "I've gone slightly higher because these things always spiral."

She bit her lip again; "This could be our last holiday for the next twenty years!"

"You forget we can stay here for free, just need flights. And that phrase leads me to believe you're coming round..." His voice rises at the end of his sentence, hopeful.

She ignores the comment and writes her monthly wage down, "I think we need a monthly budget, I think – based on what we've spent so far since living together – our food bill might be," she wrote down a minus number beneath her wage, "the basic bills, God knows what the council tax will be on a property like that so we'll go for highest. Total?"

He said the number immediately.

"So good at maths," she smiled. "Right, there we are so that's what I'll have left every month if I handle bills."

"And would that be acceptable?"

"I think so yes, it's certainly doable."

"So, with that in mind," he said slowly, "are we moving towards a deal?"

She glanced over the top of her glasses at him, "You're absolutely _positively_ sure that this is what you want to do? Because it's a huge commitment Charles…perhaps the biggest one we can make."

He smiled slightly, "I can think of a_ slightly_ bigger one but yes, this is close."

She opened her mouth to speak but found her words stuck, the 'm' word hanging unsaid.

He held his hand out, "So, do we have a deal?"

"That's very formal." She said lowly, taking her glasses off.

"That's how you wanted to approach it, no heart in this I promise. Perhaps a little bit of body." He shrugged, making her smile.

She held her hand out to take his across the table, "Alright Me Carson, you have a deal."

"Very happy to hear it Ms Hughes."

They shook on it, then he turned her hand over and kissed the back of it. "I suspect there was a little bit of heart in that…" He says gently.

At that she smiles, getting up and going around the table to pull him into a hug. "Oh they broke the mould when they made you Charles Carson."

Smiling, caught between wanting to laugh, he kisses her cheek. "Thank you."

"I think I should thank you. Though your point about the bills did swing it."

"Not the loving you bit."

"Maybe that too." She kissed him. "I'll call the agent when we get up tomorrow."

He pulled her to sit in his lap. "Set the alarm so you can do it first thing."

"I will not, I'm on holiday, I have enough of that during term time." She tapped her index finger against his pout. "You are a worrier at times. I'll email him tonight, then he can pick that up first thing and I'll call after breakfast to check. Is that acceptable milord?"

"Yes I think so. Acceptable enough."

"I best get on with it then, if I'm ever going to get to bed."

* * *

It was warm in the bedroom, almost too warm. They had the window open and the breeze from outside lifted the curtain leaving it flying free.

It was after four and they'd only slept for a couple of hours, Elsie had woken feeling hot and stuffy and had gone to the bathroom for water.

"Els, could you bring me some too?" He said, cracking open an eye upon hearing her bare feet pad across the tiled floor.

She did as he asked and they sat side-by-side squashed against pillows drinking in the dark.

"We're buying a house." He finally said, his voice a whisper.

"We are."

He turned his head slightly to see her profile, "You happy?"

She smiled, "Very much so. You?"

"A little."

She swiped at his arm, "I could tip this down your chest you know."

"Then lick it off?"

"Hmm…." She glanced to the clock, "You know, you didn't make love to me yesterday Mr Carson."

"Oh I am very sorry." He put his empty glass down. "Please allow me to make up for that."

She was giggling as they wiggled down the bed together, Charles leaning over to kiss her and sliding his hand along the delicious, silk-covered curves of her body.

"I've had such a wonderful day," she said against his mouth, "such a wonderful time so far."

"It couldn't be much better, you love me for a start."

Smiling she slid her hands up and around his neck, her nails tickling along his hairline, and lifted her mouth to his – their lips teasing and tasting the familiar but always so new, so intoxicating.

His eager hands soon slid her nightdress up and over her body and dropped it to the floor as they turned, lying naked on top of the sheets, facing each other, their bodies wrapped together as they kissed. He adored the sounds that came from the back of her throat when they kissed, soft gently murmurs, deepening and strengthening as she became more aroused. It pleased him no end to know she wanted him as much as he did her.

Her hands slid down between their bodies, stroking over his chest, tugging on the greying hair there. She could feel his growing erection pressing against her leg and the intense joy of being with him seeming to draw together and encapsulate between her thighs.

She rolled onto her back, looking up at him as he leant on his elbow to look down her body; he remembered many, _many_ years ago hoping for this – more than the physical, more than just the release of sex, the need to find someone with whom he could share everything. He'd never even come close. And now it was all here in front of him – overwleming, intoxicating, fulfilling.

He bent to kiss her chest, sliding his tongue down her neck, to his favourite spot, the sweetest, softest spot at the base of her throat where the skin was like fragile silk. She always breathed that little bit harder when he touched her there.

Then lower, over her breasts, his fingers tracing over the freckles he knew adorned her skin, out in force thanks to the sun's caress.

She twisted beneath him, pushing herself up until he moved and she could turn over, her back to him, her body pressed into the mattress. He took her lead, nuzzling her neck for a moment, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her.

"I love you," he whispered, against her skin, then massaging across her shoulders, kissing down her spine, hands on her hips as he did so, then squeezing her bottom until she giggled into the pillow.

His body longed for hers. Desperate to love her again, he moved on top of her, careful of his weight, felt her lift herself up and twist her head to meet his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

Her legs parted and he slipped between her thighs, pressing so close to her he could feel the heat of her driving him mad with desire.

She wiggled against him, moaning, breathing his name, shifting beneath him. He placed his hands flat on the bed, holding himself up as she turned beneath him, her hands quickly moving to grasp his head and pull him to her, kissing him fiercely.

"Elsie," he sighed; her name akin to heaven for him, "I can't get enough of you." She was raising her legs around him, drawing him into her until they both groaned deeply at the connection. So perfect now, how they fit together, how easily they fell into this deep, sensual rhythm.

As the morning sun began to turn the sky from inky blue to orangey clouds they were cuddled together; her back to his chest, his arms tight around her, still kissing any part of her he could – the back of her head, her neck, her shoulder – and her hands drew nonsensical patterns upon his forearm as he held her.

"I love you," she said into the coming morning and he smiled, any lingering doubts erased.

* * *

_I had to get a key in somewhere right! Hope you're still enjoying their journey - physical, emotional, metaphorical... please let me know what you think, your reviews and reblogs and messages are forever my daily joy! x_


	25. Chapter 25

_So, this is a mixed chapter - the joy of their holiday and flourishing love and Elsie facing up to the horrors of her past. Warning for discussion of partner rape._

_There's a song by Mariah (Camouflage) that I think is great for understanding her feelings when she was married to the man who we shan't name (!) if you fancy a listen._

* * *

_Weary sometimes when I try to discern our reality  
Wish that I just could be somebody else if you talked to me  
Kept praying inside let him love me for who I am – please my Lord.  
But you were just somewhere the sun couldn't reach, couldn't understand  
(All that I needed was you to really see me)  
**I camouflage my tears and you wear your disguise**  
(You wear your disguise)  
And round I go  
To know if you still love me_

watch?v=M-aeWJfn-44

* * *

**Chapter 25**

**Italy – Day 9**

Elsie woke in the early hours of the morning, breathing heavily, her chest damp with sweat. For minutes she lay perfectly still, afraid to move, her entire body felt leaden and fixed. Gradually the horrors of her nightmare dissipated and she moved her hand above the sheet, pushing it down around her waist.

Her hearing, muted by a dull buzzing in her brain, returned and she could hear Charles snoring beside her. Lying flat on his back never helped with his breathing, and she tried to pretend it was that which had woken her.

It was still fairly dark in the room but there was no way she'd sleep now. She slid out of bed, careful not to wake him, picked up clothes and took them with her, closing the bedroom door behind her to leave him to sleep.

After making a pot of tea she sat outside by the pool, a blanket from the sofa wrapped around her as she watched the sun rise, its rays gradually warming the early morning air. Restless and annoyed at her mind for taking her back to a place she'd rather forget she decided to do something physical. Tying up her hair and finding her sandals and handbag she set off taking a slow walk down to the town.

* * *

Turning over and reaching for Elsie Charles was surprised to instead find an empty space. He rolled onto his back, stretched his arms above his head and listened for sounds of her.

"Els?" he called, pushing himself to sit. When there was no response he got out of bed, pulled on his pyjama bottoms (sleeping naked was something of a revelation) and headed into the kitchen.

It was only early, just after eight, and he was surprised to find the villa empty. Clearly she'd been up very early, there was a lukewarm teapot on the side, he emptied it and put water on to boil intending to make a fresh brew.

He was rinsing his face when he heard her come in, "Where've you been?" He shouted from the bathroom, drying his face on a towel.

"To get breakfast, are you coming outside?"

"Just a second."

With a t-shirt on he returned to the kitchen, finding her filling the fridge, two bottles of red wine standing on the side.

"What's all this?"

"Thought I'd cook tonight, we can stay home for a change, save some money for our property venture. And I got something wonderful for dessert."

"Ooh what?"

"Surprise."

She flinched slightly as he came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Fine just ticklish." She twisted her head to kiss him. "I got this fresh bread with chocolate chips in for breakfast, just for you."

He squeezed her waist, kissing her neck, "Wonderfully kind of you. You smell good enough to eat."

"I'm sweaty from walking up that hill with bags of food." She chuckled. "Go carry the tea out." She pushed her bottom into him, "Go."

When she goes out to join him he's standing staring at the pool and she smirks to herself, biting her lip. "Whatever's the matter?" She asks innocently.

"You bought a bloody ball."

"Told you I would."

"We haven't got kids staying!"

"I have you, you're like an overgrown kid at times. Are you going to sit down, that tea will be too strong?"

Shaking his head and grumbling he did as she asked.

"Charles…"

"It takes up half the pool."

"Oh it does not. Besides, I'm going to kick your arse at volleyball later."

"Pleasant turn of phrase."

"Don't be moody," she said gently, passing him a plate across.

He screwed his face up, took the plate from her and sat back in his chair. "Sorry. Volleyball will be fun," he bit into his bread.

"Maybe we can make it a competition. Loser has to do whatever the winner wants."

His eyebrows rose, "Interesting."

"Warming up to the idea?"

"I might be." He polished off his first piece of bread and put his plate down, picking up his teacup instead. "What made you get up so early anyhow?"

She swallowed, a shiver running down her arms. "Just couldn't sleep."

He noted her expression, "That's all?"

"A-ha…" She slid open the cover on her iPad, "I'll check my emails, the solicitor did say he'd send those forms out, you'll need to fill your own you know."

"Will do. Weeks of all this waiting now," he said. He recalled the initial joy when they received the call – the house was off the market, it was theirs. And they'd celebrated with champagne and a sail on the lake. Now came the boring part, the legal side, searches and checks, at least they didn't have to suffer the feet-dragging of a mortgage lender; the solicitor assured them being cash buyers should speed it up.

"I might have another slice of that bread." He said cutting himself one.

"I thought you might. Anything you'd like to do today?" she said tapping away on her screen, "Or just be lazy, we have had a few days out."

"That sounds fine, hey do we have dimensions for the kitchen? Thought I might sketch how I want it to look."

"Sketch? You never told me you could draw."

He nodded, "Do a bit of painting too, or rather I did. Not been out for a long time, always busy in the shop or with cricket – which reminds me, there's a charity match coming up in August, will you come?"

"Of course." She slid her glasses off, "Done mine. Do you want to fill yours in now?"

"May as well." He got to his feet, "I'll go get my glasses."

She sat back in her chair, stretching her legs out, letting her dress slip to one side and the sun warm her skin. She'd need to put sun cream on soon, especially if they were going to lie in it for the day. In the warmth and beauty of the morning it was easy to push the last vestiges of her dream to the furthest recesses of her mind.

"Elspeth Hughes," he chided, "sitting there with your thighs on display."

She snapped her legs together and pulled her dress back over.

"I was only joking," he said as he sat down. "Only you and I can see, and I have no complaints."

"I know." She sat up, gathering today their breakfast dishes.

"Are you sure you're okay? You would tell me, if anything was wrong, you're not changing your mind about the house?"

"Of course not." She breathed deeply, noting his expression. "It was just a dream, nothing really, the counsellor said I'd probably have more as we discuss things."

He searched for words of comfort, battling his desire to know more.

She shrugged, "It doesn't matter." She took his teacup, "I'll go wash up, then we could go for a walk, before it gets too hot."

* * *

Elsie took his hand as they walked, swinging his arm – the trees provided seclusion and the sunlight dappled through them in streams of warmth.

"You're sure we can swim in the lake?" She asked.

"Of course, what you got on under there?"

"My bikini, nosey."

"Just checking, we can swim from the clearing we visited that first night… you know, when you proclaimed your _undying_ love for me."

"Did I say undying? I don't recall that part…" She teased.

"Mm, I definitely remember hearing those specific words."

"Specific? Those actual, specific words that I uttered?"

"From your own sweet mouth."

They both laughed as they reached the end of the path and Charles jumped down over the rocks, turning around and holding his arms up for her; she rested her hands firmly on his shoulders, his hands on her waist as he lifted her down.

"Let me get a picture of you here," he said, his camera bag slung over his shoulder, "to remember."

"You old softy," but she went and stood beneath the overhanging tree limb, "Am I alright here?"

"Perfect." He took a couple of snaps.

"I should take a picture of you too."

He groaned, "I always look awful on them." But he handed the camera across.

"Oh, don't be silly, you look lovely in that one of us on the beach in Dubai."

"That's because you're in it, the focus is shifted."

She was giggling as she took a picture of him, then went to him beneath the shade of tree and kissed him affectionately. "Well, you have my entire focus."

He enfolded her in his arms, "That's what I've loved most about being away, just the two of us, no distractions."

"That's the thing you've loved the most!" She teased. "Not the rich food or great weather or fantastic sex." She was pressed against him, tickling his waist.

"Well, maybe some of those things have struck a chord."

"Maybe…" She stepped back from him, slipping her sandals off, "Come on then, let's swim." And she pulled her dress up over her head and dropped it into her bag.

"God I love how you just _go_ for these things," he said, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling the belt on his trousers.

She was already wading into the water, gasping at the coolness of it lapping up her thighs, "Bloody hell it's freezing!" She said as she flopped forward and it whipped up around her breasts, she let out a sound caught half between a scream and a yelp.

He was chuckling as he dipped a toe in, "Wimp!"

"You just bloody wait til you get in and your bits shrink."

"Elsie!" But he was laughing at her as he swam forward, "Lord above!" He shouted.

"Who's a wimp now?"

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he said, teeth chattering.

"Its because we're in the shade," she said swimming further out, "might be better in the sunshine."

He swam behind her, his legs slowly waking up again after the initial shock of the water. He lifted one arm up and over and then the other until he'd caught her up and swam alongside her.

"It's quite refreshing now I suppose," he said.

"Let's hope we don't get run over by a passing boat."

"Nice thought!"

She giggled, "I aim to please. We should call Anna later, haven't heard from her in days."

"I don't want her to think I'm checking up on her with the shop."

"Of course we are," she paused in her strokes, floating and paddling her hands beside her to maintain her position, he did the same. "Better here?"

"Much."

She twirled in the water, "And look at the gorgeous view."

"Oh, I am, believe me."

She felt one of his fingers slide down her back and she smirked over her shoulder at him, "Flirt."

"Only with you."

She turned to face him, moving into his space, "I should hope so."

He drew his arms around her, bending his head to kiss her. She slid her hands up his arms, resting her hands on his shoulders as she returned the kiss.

"Don't let go of me, I'll sink," she whispered against his lips.

"It's my number one aim."

She chuckled, "To let me sink…?"

"To not let you go!" He emphasised the words by pressing her closer against him.

"Mm," she murmured flirtatiously, "You're absolutely, positively sure about that?"

"Most decidedly." He nudged her nose with his, "I kinda like spending time with you."

"You _kinda_ like it?"

"Yeah. You know, sometimes."

"That's good to know. Because I _kinda_ like spending time with you too. In fact, I might even go as far as to say that you are now my favourite person to spend time with."

"Really? That's nice to know, you do realise this is just a bit of a casual thing for me though, don't you?"

She splashed water into his face, "It bloody well better not be."

"Dangerous to do that, I might drop you."

She screamed as he momentarily let go, gripping his shoulders, "Charles, you idiot!"

"I'm a what…?" He asked, loosening his grip again.

"A very, _very_ nice man."

"I'm a very cold man," he smiled, "shall we swim back? There's a nice spot in the sun we can dry out in. Then we can walk down to the town and I'll buy you lunch."

"Lovely, I really want to share some antipasti."

"Share?!"

"Yes," she squeezed his arm, "there's a lot on the plate, and besides I don't want you so full you don't enjoy dinner."

"Are you going to tell me what we're having yet?"

"There was fresh seafood this morning, so I thought I'd make fish stew, cacciucco!" She said in an elaborate Italian accent.

"Ooh nice, and this special dessert?"

She chuckled, "Is very much American, not Italian! But you'll like it." She kissed him again, "You think there's others splashing about looking at us and thinking _silly old fools, that's disgusting_!"

"Well, bugger them if they are."

Smiling she slipped out of his arms and started to swim back to shore.

* * *

They sat on the rocks in the sunshine letting their swimwear dry out. Elsie had rubbed cream into Charles' shoulders and he was returning the favour.

"You're not cold?" He asked as she shivered.

"No, not really."

He kissed the back of her neck, "You know sun cream protects against UVA, anti-ageing rays."

"We should be wearing it every day, how do you know these things?"

"I read a lot."

She smirked, "But of course you do. You know, you'd be great on a quiz show, all this information packed away up there."

He moved to sit beside her, laying back and resting his head on her rolled up towel. "I do retain a lot of useless facts – did you know a group of hares is called a Husk?"

"That can't be true."

He nodded, "Might not be such a useless fact when we're living in our country abode and see a group of them. Though the terms drove or down are also acceptable."

"That's going to be my goal now, searching out a group of them so I can use it." She rested her head against his chest, curling against him.

"You know," he said, stroking her back. "When we were in Dubai I was so blissfully happy, just to be with you, our first real time alone. So amazed by it, how my feelings were growing every day. But a lot of the time I had this niggling worry that you didn't want it, that you'd realise what a mistake you'd made."

She stroked his skin, chasing away the last remnants of water with her fingertips, "You don't feel like that anymore I hope."

"Not at all."

"Good," she kissed his chest. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I, especially now we're tied in to house ownership."

"How romantic…" She smiled, "I'm just going to rest my eyes for a second."

"Me too."

* * *

They ate around one and then meandered around the local shops, Elsie's arm hooked through his. She bought him a few books he'd spotted, eager to treat him to at least something after his generous Tiffany gift.

Charles suggested they visit the church and Elsie was glad of the coolness in there. Outdoors was bustling and hazy in the early afternoon heat, it was August after all, and inside all was still and calm. They split up for a while; Charles had seen the interior many times before and was eager to take photos of the newly renovated exterior, Elsie indulged the historian in her and wandered from plaque to plague, reading the dedications, her glasses perched on her nose.

When Charles came back inside he found her sitting in the front pew, a melancholy expression on her face as she gazed to the altar.

He slipped in beside her, his arm squashed against the side. "Hi," he whispered. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, reaching up to wipe her eyes. _Was she crying?_

"Elsie," he said, his tone hushed. "What's wrong?"

His hand was on her leg and she covered his hand with hers, shaking her head. "Nothing. Just having a female moment, that's all."

"You're sure?"

She nodded again, leaning against his arm and closing her eyes for a second. Content to just sit in the silent reverence and let her tears fall.

* * *

They walked home in silence, holding hands as they climbed the hill back to the villa.

"It's so hot," she complained when they got in, emptying her bag of purchases and damp towels.

"Why don't you go in the pool to cool off?" He said, moving behind her, his hands on her hips, "Or we could always have a siesta…"

She stepped forward, out of his embrace. "I think I will take a swim. Maybe read my book for a while."

"Alright," he watched as she folded her towel over her arm, located her book from the coffee table. "I'll make us some drinks, something cold and refreshing."

"Thank you honey, I'll save you a seat."

She was doing laps down the pool when he got out, front crawl, slow as she practised each move he'd taught her.

"Looking good," he said, as she reached the end and came up for breath. "It's improving."

"Can't quite time my breathing yet."

"Getting there though."

"Are you coming in?"

"I will." He put their drinks at the side of the pool and dived in, swimming clear from one end of the pool to the other in just a few strokes.

"Show off," she said, as he stopped at the opposite end to her. She threw the ball at him before he had chance to react and it smashed into the water covering his face in splash.

"You little…" He threw it back and she pounded it with her hands, sending it back.

For a while they played about, carefree, almost excitable, Charles started to keep score until he realised Elsie was seven points in front.

"Told you I'd kick your arse!"

"Just lucky."

"Whatever! I was in the netball team you know."

"I can tell."

"I can't help being the winner, and you the loser!"

"Right that's it," he threw the ball aside, striding across the pool, hands held aloft. "You're gonna pay for that."

"Don't you dare!" She backed up to the wall. "Charles! I'm warning you!"

"Whatcha gonna do?!"

She screamed playfully as he reached her, grabbing her waist and hoisting her up into the air.

"That's not fair, you're stronger."

He waded through the water, swinging her body as if preparing to throw her across the pool.

"Don't you dare Charles," she warned, pressing hard in his shoulders. He tipped her back, causing her to grip tighter, "Ah! Charles!" She pushed on him again, making him wobble, his foot slipped beneath him and he lost his balance, collapsing back in the water with a heavy splash and Elsie on top of him.

They spluttered, laughing and splashing the other.

"Like a child." She managed to say, "Just because you lost."

"The game isn't over yet."

"Isn't it!"

"Rematch tomorrow when I have more energy." He flopped onto his back, raising his arms up by his head and floating.

She copied him, "Yes. That is a good idea."

"That was fun though."

"And you didn't want a ball…" She tutted.

* * *

Later they lay side by side on the loungers, hidden beneath the shade of the umbrella, Elsie dosing after her interrupted night's sleep and Charles reading one of the books she'd purchased for him.

He was already over a third of the way through it when she turned onto her side, groggy and disorientated.

"Hi," he said softly watching her wake. "Feel better for the nap?"

"A little. I hope I sleep well tonight."

"You want to tell me what it was about…?"

"Sorry?" she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"The dream. The church."

Breathing deeply she reached for the drink on the table between them, taking a sip and screwing up her mouth. "This is warm. What time is it?"

"Erm, a little after six I think. I heard the church bells. But Elsie…"

She was already getting up, searching for her flip-flops. "I'll go start dinner."

He let her go. Pushing her into discussing things wasn't the way and they'd come so far, she'd shared so much and she was so strong – that's how she seemed to him, the strongest person he'd ever met. But still, there were times that tender side came to the fore, the raw memories, the things she'd had to face up to. He only hoped he could be there to support her through them, that she'd let him.

Elsie busied herself with preparing dinner, putting on a sarong over her bikini and pouring herself a small glass of wine to begin with. She salted the fish and then started with the base of the stew – olive oil, garlic, chilli, parsley and red wine. Then tomatoes. She left it to simmer, taking the time to tidy around the villa, putting their towels in the wash; packing away the gifts they'd bought.

She was making the bed when Charles came in to change.

"Smells divine in the kitchen," he said. "Do I have time for a shower before we eat? I'm a mixture of lake water, sun cream and chlorine from the pool."

She smiled, lifting the sheets from the bed and shaking them out before she tucked them in. "You have time."

"Unless you want me to help."

"No, you cooked last time. I'm fine, go have your shower."

"Thank you darling," he kissed her cheek, squeezed her arm, then disappeared into the bathroom.

For a moment she stood still staring after him, biting down on her lip; a part of her wanted to tell him, longed to empty her head of it, the truth was she'd never spoken of it to anyone, not even her counsellor. They'd skirted around the issue so far, treading gently – she knew that was the plan; she wasn't dumb – until Elsie would be the one to bring it up, to face it.

But maybe Charles was the one to talk it over with. She trusted no one more – it was quite a surprise to her when she'd realised that fact.

Shaking herself free of the thoughts she returned to the kitchen and set about preparing the fish. Charles was singing in the shower and the sound cheered her, and she put on the radio to accompany her cooking.

Charles found her singing along to classic Madonna, slicing bread for dinner and dropping slices of it into a pan to warm.

"You must be my lucky star…" she sang, and he leant against the door frame watching her, "…cos you shine on me wherever you are…"

She was turning to the sink to rinse her hands when she spotted him, her cheeks flushed momentarily. "Hello handsome." She smiled.

"That's a nice greeting."

"Dinner's ready, you want to set the table, pour the wine?"

"Sure. Anything for you."

* * *

"That was so, so good Els." He said, mopping up the last of his sauce with a piece of bread.

"Well, I reckon I've made enough for the rest of the week so I'm glad you enjoyed it."

He grinned at her, "Oops."

"Slight miscalculation with how many people were eating here tonight."

"_Slight?_" He smiled warmly, kindly. "I like it when you cook for me."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Is this some sort of throwback to the days of yore?"

"Not at all, just an observation."

She softened, "Sorry, didn't mean to snap."

"I didn't take it that way." He reached across to where her hand lay upon the table, "Els, you can tell me to leave it and I will but as wonderful as today has been, there's something I feel you want to tell me, something bothering you that I can help with. And I want you to know I'm here, that I'll listen, just to talk and listen, if that's what you want."

She stared at his fingers stroking hers, turning her response over in her mouth, her tongue feeling thick and dry. There were brown spots on the back of his hand, age spots probably but she found them endearing, and she thought how tanned his skin was looking from all the sun.

When she looked up his eyes were so kind and sympathetic and she jerked her chair back, getting to her feet. "I think I'll take a bath." She said. "We can have dessert later, if you're hungry."

He nodded, patient, "Sure. If that's what you want."

She left him sitting at the kitchen table, hiding herself away in the bathroom and quickly filling the tub, covering her mouth to stop herself from crying.

She floated down in the bath, letting the water come up over her shoulders, enveloping her neck and tickling her mouth. The steady rhythm of her own heartbeat filled her ears and she let her mind drift away, clear and focus.

For long minutes it was tranquil, she could escape – she'd always loved the water, as a child she could hide away in the tub for a couple of hours, until she was cold and her skin wrinkled. In some ways she could understand why people chose drowning as a way to go – floating away to oblivion.

She screamed and jumped up, splashing and gasping for her as something grabbed her arm.

"It's me, sweetheart, it's me!" Charles gasped and she flopped back in the water, leaning against the back of the bath.

"God, you scared me."

"You didn't hear me when I walked in; I bought you some wine."

"Oh… thank you."

She watched him place it on the side, brushed her damp hair back from her face.

"Are you alright?"

She smiled lopsided at him.

"Silly question." He gazed down at her.

"I feel exposed," she said covering her chest.

"Sorry, I'll go."

"No," she reached up for his hand, "Stay. I'm sorry I walked out on you before, I just needed to be alone for a while."

"That's fine, I understand… well, I don't, I can't. But I'm trying."

"I know. You want to get in here?"

"It's not as big as at home…"

"You'll have to sit."

She sipped her wine as he undressed then scooted to one end of the bath as he got in behind her, somehow, awkwardly at first, they moved and rearranged limbs until she was on her side, her face pressed against his chest, his arms around her.

He watched the droplets of water slide down her arm, followed their journey from shoulder to elbow, until they disappeared into the bathtub.

"There are things I want to tell you." She said softly, "I think of it, and then… I don't know where to start. Or if I can even find the words, if I want to find them."

He kissed her head, "You don't have to tell me anything. But I am here to listen, to support, and never judge."

She closed her eyes, letting the gentle movement of the water and the feel of Charles' hands on her back soothe her.

"Sometimes, in the early days…" she said, finding her voice, surprising herself when she did. "I'd be asleep and he'd come home – from the pub or something, I don't know, and he'd wake me up and have sex with me."

Charles did his best not to move, not to even breathe, for fear of her closing up again, shutting herself off from it. As difficult as it was for her to share, as difficult as it was for him to hear, there was something vital about her sharing these things with him, working through them together.

"That's what woke me this morning, dreaming of that. I never saw it as anything bad, as an attack. Not back then, we were newlyweds…" She shrugged, "I was young, he was my first relationship, the first real one. And what did I know? I'd never lived with anyone; I'd only witnessed my parents' relationship, hardly an advertisement for a healthy partnership. I thought that was just… just how it was…"

He swallowed, closing his eyes, images of this young girl fresh into marriage, twenty and clueless. He thought of where he was aged twenty, travelling around Europe with Richard. Enjoying himself.

"I loved him." She said simply, "Or what I thought was love. And when Anna was born, years later, things started to change. I didn't want that for my daughter, I didn't want her to ever feel uncomfortable or awkward if someone tried to touch her – it made realise that I didn't in fact like it."

She was quiet again, remembering, sniffling back tears. She felt Charles' hand rest on her hip, his thumb brushing in small circles upon her skin.

"In my thirties, that's when it was worse. When I got my degree and I started teaching and finding myself, my independence…" she breathed deeply, feeling his chest beneath her cheek, the gentle thrum of his heart. "He hurt me." She said simply.

His arm curled around her, instinctively wanting to protect.

"And now, god now I don't know why I stayed. Why I let it happen. But then, when I was in it, it seemed like this was just how life was, how all relationships were… I just wanted him to love me," she shook her head, "I can't believe who I was. How angry I am with myself for letting it go on."

"You mustn't feel that," he said gently.

She turned in the water and he did too, until she was facing him. She avoided his eyes at first but when she finally did look up at him his face was red and she reached to touch his cheek, finding it damp with tears. She rested her head forward until it touched his chin and he kissed her forehead.

Breathing deeply she closed her eyes again, playing through her memories, "I started paying for Anna to go to dance classes, when she was seven, she'd begged for months before her birthday. I paid for it myself and didn't tell Joe – I made some story up about it being a big surprise for Daddy for Christmas, I had no idea what I'd say when we actually got to Christmas. We managed it for four months and then she won some prize, and she blurted it out over dinner… and of course he was proud, the doting father congratulating her… …but God, did I pay that night." Her voice caught, tight and raw, "Anna was asleep in the next room…" She whispered and then she was crying and falling against him.

To hear her sob, really sob with the agony of remembering, breaks his heart. He thinks he should have battered him that night, that he should have killed him. But she doesn't need to hear that, she needs him to support.

When her tears started to subside and her body was no longer shuddering against him he spoke softly, "What else did Anna like to do, hmm…" he asked, bringing her out of the dark memories, kissing her head. "What else did you do together?"

She appreciated him refocusing her, filling her mind with other memories, better memories. "She liked the zoo," she finally said.

"Which animal best?"

She pulled her head back from the crook of his neck, snuffling and wiping her face with damp hands, "Penguins, we always stood half-an-hour at the penguins. And she had that pink stuff…, candyfloss all over her face."

He smiled, "What else?"

"Erm, she liked butterfly buns with vanilla cream, and those…" she turned slightly, the water splashing as she moved onto her back, still fighting back her tears, still wiping her face of them. "…sprinkles on top, she made me fill her palm with them and she'd lick them out, but not the green ones – she always picked them all out. And she liked to go ice-skating too, every Birthday."

Charles' hand was on her stomach beneath the water, listening to her recount these things was a bit like watching a black and white film, watching images you don't want to see but know you have to if its going to make any sense in the end.

"I didn't want to fall in love with you," she suddenly gasps, "because love meant humiliation and manipulation and being made to feel small and owned, I didn't know it could be like this… and I'm so ashamed for how I treated you, so ashamed."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. I can't believe I allowed it to go on so very long… and that night, that night in my flat on the sofa – he could have raped me then, he could have…so easily. But you know why he didn't – because that wasn't the point. He'd done that for years, wrapped it up in the pretence of married life and love. The point was then that we were no longer married and he needed me to break and let him do it, to give consent because then he'd have broken me in another way."

She was crying again, covering her face with her hands. "Only now the haze has completely lifted, being with you, talking it through with my counsellor, it's the first time I've ever faced things, but I've never told her this, only touched upon it… you're the only person I've ever shared it with."

He circled his arms around her, pulling her to him and she turned, letting him fall onto his back so she could lean on top of him. For a long time they lay like that, silent.

The water was lukewarm at best and Elsie could feel her limbs setting; she lifted her face up from his chest, "I think we ought to move."

He reached up to brush her hair back, and she twisted her head to kiss his palm, "I really do feel exposed now." She said, self-consciously.

"No. Not in a bad way." He bit his tongue, he didn't want to ask, but felt he had to, not that it would make that much of a difference in the scheme of things. "Did he ever… I mean did he ever…hit you?"

"God no, he was far too clever for that. In some ways I wonder who was worse – him or my father – my experience of men is hardly a ringing endorsement for your sex is it?"

He pulled a face, one that told her it was understandable, considering.

"Tell me abut you," she said softly, still holding his hand. "Tell me something about you."

"Something like…"

"Anything, something to take my mind off him, I don't want to think about it anymore. Something funny."

"Erm, I once ate four packs of Jaffa Cakes one after the other. And I mean boxes, not those mini packs."

She laughed, "Easily done I suppose."

"I woke up with the guilt of the wrappers around me."

"Like The Vicar of Dibley and her Crunchies."

He chuckled, "I remember that, I like that show."

"So do I."

"I always wanted children," he said more seriously. "I know in Dubai I said I never found the right person, but I wanted them. At one point in my early forties I actually thought of looking into adopting as a single man, but I figured they'd never let me have a child."

"Oh Charles, you would have been a wonderful father, you're so kind and patient." She leant forward to kiss him, feeling his hand low on her back, his mouth soft and pliant against hers.

"We do need to get out." He said, his toes were freezing.

"Yes. Let's find that Port out and get drunk."

"If that's what you want."

* * *

"So, what are we doing?" Charles asked, sat on the sofa watching Elsie knelt by the fire. She wore a thick cardigan and his pyjama bottoms – her damp hair coming loose from the clip she'd put in.

"We're warming up the marshmallows."

"For what purpose?"

"You'll see."

She'd set out chocolate biscuits on the coffee table and napkins – he let her, it seemed to help, to busy herself with doing this rather than curling up with him on the sofa and continuing their earlier chat.

That she was raped was no real shock to him, he'd pieced together a rough idea from bits and pieces she'd said over the past year. But to hear that it went on repeatedly for so very long filled him with horror and hate, and he'd never actually physically hated anyone.

"Now," she said, her voice light, "slip this off here…"

He watched as she squashed the sticky marshmallow onto the biscuit and handed it to him on a napkin.

"And there you go."

She did one for herself before going to sit beside him, curling her legs beneath her and watching expectantly as he bit into his.

His eyes slipped closed and a slow smile filled his face, "Oh wow, that's a revelation."

"I thought you might like it."

"You know, this might be the thing, you chose that ice cream but for me this might be the thing that beats sex."

She smiled, licking her lips, "Charles," she said softly, "I know we've been naked in the bath together, but would you mind if we… didn't… tonight?"

"God of course not, of course, I never presumed." He leant forward, kissing her forehead before considering the marshmallow on his lips.

"Thanks." She grinned, rubbing it off.

"My apologies." He polished off his biscuit and wiped his sticky fingers. "Now that was very, _very_ good Mrs Hughes. A banquet of a meal tonight."

"I'm glad you liked it."

She put her empty napkin back on the table.

"Now," he said, stretching his legs out behind her on the sofa, "Why don't you come cuddle up here and let me hold you."

She did just that, feeling temperamental and delicate, as soon as they lay down and he cradled her against him she felt the tears come again and was surprised when he simply held her and let her cry – years of repressed anger and hurt and upset finally coming out.

He covered their bodies with the blanket from the back of the sofa and they lay side-by-side, her back to his chest, staring at the dwindling fire.

"I was scared you'd think less of me." She whispered. "I couldn't bear that."

"Never. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have left. I'm angry with myself for putting up with it for as long as I did. For leaving Anna in that house." Deep, shuddering breaths ran through her. "But then by the time she was a teenager it had stopped, he didn't need me, he was going elsewhere for it and it became easy to just stay, to maintain the façade of that solid family unit. To forget what had gone before. When he told me he wanted a divorce, that he'd met someone else, I didn't know how I felt – upset or glad. Maybe ashamed, that he'd been the one to end it, the one always in charge. And now he was done with me and that was it. I'd always been so weak."

"But you aren't." He pressed his palm against her stomach. "You're the strongest, most resilient person I know." He kissed her head. "It could never change my feelings for you Elsie. You must realise that. I am so very deeply in love with you, so much the word doesn't seem to cover it – it's unending."

She snuffled again, turning onto her back. "I don't know what I've done to deserve it."

"You don't have to earn it; just by being you, this wonderful, kind, warm woman. I'd never let anything hurt you, never." He stroked her face.

She took his hand, kissed his palm, his wrist. "I think you're the only person I've ever really trusted. And I love you for that. For so many things."

He kissed her head again, careful to avoid anything too much, too sexual.

"Trust me enough to let me carry you to bed? If we sleep here we'll end up with bad backs for the last days of our holiday."

"Oh, don't say that. I don't want to go home." She slid her hands up around his neck, pulling him into a hug. "I want to stay here forever, with you."

He smiled, "That sounds blissful."

She closed her eyes, breathing him in, "I want to be with you forever."

* * *

_So, I hope this odd mix of angst and loving worked! And I'm SOOOOO happy about passing 500 reviews, I had a little party (only me invited). So please continue to let me know what you think - your time is very much appreciated._


	26. Chapter 26

_Sorry this took a few days to post - for some reason it turned into quite a hard chapter to write!_

* * *

**Chapter 26**

**Italy – Day 12**

For a couple of days after opening up Elsie was quieter, not unhappy, simply more reserved. It felt decidedly odd to have shared this story, her story, with another human being.

For as long as she could remember it had been in her head, she doubted even Joe saw it the way she did – sometimes she wondered if he ever looked back on his behaviour with regret, or even disgust. A part of her hoped so, she'd hate to think of any human being living their life simply enjoying hurting another and never regretting their actions.

And then there was this wonderful man, who was so soft and so gentle and so patient. The opposite to men she'd known. And it had taken her a lifetime to find him. She wasn't about to let him go.

Twisting onto her side she was surprised to find him already awake and watching her.

"Morning," he said, stretching his hand out on her stomach, on top of the sheets.

"Hi," she smiled. "You're awake early."

"The birds woke me."

She closed her eyes again, listening, seeking out the sounds from outdoors – the breeze rustling the tree that stood beside their window, the gentle patter of raindrops.

"It's raining," she said, opening her eyes. "What about our day trip?"

"Don't worry, it'll be gone by the time we get up, just early morning drizzle."

"I hope you're right, I'm really looking forward to this."

"Me too. Especially the boat trip."

"And the church… all these years I've been alive and I've never made it Venice. That's pretty sad right?"

"Well, no, because now you get to go with me." He said happily.

She sighed. "There are so many places I want to go."

"Let's make a list, we can spend the next fifty years working our way through them."

"Fifty years! That's wishful thinking."

"We'll see…"

"Okay," she flopped onto her back again, resting her hand on top of his. "Do these have to be completely new places or can we revisit?"

"Let's start with new, then we can do revisits later."

"Right, so first… ooh I know… I once saw in the newspaper an advert for an around the world cruise. It lasted for months and you went everywhere," she lifted her hands up, palms turned upward to emphasise. "I mean can you imagine, months on holiday seeing the whole world." She turned her head to him, "Now you can't have done that?"

"You're right, I haven't."

"Of course it costs a fortune but imagine doing that when you've retired."

"You think we'll survive months on a boat, just the two of us?"

She smirked, "I'd hope so, if we're pledging to live together forever. Besides, it'll be a huge ship – there'll be plenty of people to talk to."

He nodded, "I guess so. I'm not known for making friends easily."

She turned to face him again, tucking one hand beneath her cheek. "I'll make them for us…"

"…And I'll sneak in after." He chuckled. "Alright, so the cruise is the first thing we'll do when you retire?"

"Why when only I retire?"

"Because I'm planning to slowly settle down over the next few years, not long until I'll be sixty, it's only a couple of weeks until I'm 58. I want some time for myself, get somebody in to run the shop and see how it goes. If it's too much, I'll sell."

"You've thought this through."

"I'm starting to."

She lifted her hand across to rest on his side. "When you're sixty we can have a party at our house."

"That would be lovely, outdoors with all those wonderful views. We'll get those heat lamps."

She smiled, "Yes, we can. Though it is August, I hope it will be warm."

"When do you plan to retire?"

She shrugged, "I hadn't thought, money wise – I mean when I realised I'd be supporting myself - I figured all the way through until 65."

He frowned, "Oh no, before then." He squeezed her hip. "I'll be 71, they probably won't even let me on a cruise ship then, worried I might lose my sense of direction and wander off the end."

Chuckling she said, "Alright, I'll aim for sixty and save extra hard sir."

"You do that. The sale of the shop will see us through retirement anyhow."

"Charles…" she warned.

"I know, I know…" But in his head that was how it worked out. She'd retire at sixty; he'd support them with the sale of the shop until she got her full pension. In his head they'd be married by then and half of it would be hers anyhow – he'd already planned to see his solicitor regarding his will when they got home. If they were buying this house together then everything needed to be in proper order.

"Your turn." She said gently, snuggling closer to him on the bed.

"Alright. I think I'd like to do some European train travel, don't laugh at that."

"I'm not."

"Start in France and do the whole thing, top to bottom, by train." He tapped his fingers against her hip, feeling her warmth through the silk of her nightgown. "You stop and stay in various hotels but some of it is night travel – don't you think there's something quite romantic about spending the night in a sleeper carriage?"

"I suppose," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "Until we find the bunks are too small to share let alone make love in."

He pouted, "Don't ruin it for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. The cabins will be luxurious honey and you can love me all night long in the Queen sized beds."

"Bloody tease." He tickled her waist.

"Alright, alright. So I'd like to do something equally as luxurious for New Year."

"Go on."

"Let's go to Vegas." Her voice took on an excitable, child-like tone. "Stay in the MGM, gamble, drink, watch the fireworks on the strip."

"It's the city of sin isn't it?"

"I believe so, and what better time of year to indulge our inner sinner."

He snorted, "I guess there's logic in that."

She smiled, leaning her head forward until her nose nudged his and their mouths tentatively touched. When she opened her mouth to his he moaned, intoxicated by her. They hadn't made love since the night she'd revealed what had happened to her during her marriage and he wanted her so badly, doing his best to focus on it just being a kiss, to not touch her, to not let his body get carried away.

Elsie felt her heart jump at not only the contact but the understanding that he was being especially patient for her. Her heart, though, wasn't the only thing that was brought to life by his touch; she felt the familiar heat and tingle between her thighs, the jolt to her stomach when she thought of him being inside her.

He pulled back from the kiss, breathing deeply, rubbing his palm along her hip. "Shall I go make breakfast?" He whispered, licking his bottom lip.

Smiling she pushed herself up, lifted her nightgown up over her head and threw it to the bottom of the bed before lying down beside him again. "No, not just yet."

He was chuckling as she kissed him again, filling his arms with her, "Oh, thank god." He moaned.

Within seconds he'd managed to push his pyjama bottoms down and off the end of his feet, kicking them out of the bed, and his hands were gripping her bottom as he pressed her against him.

She rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her, eager to have him between her legs. He was already so hard and the delicious anticipation of being enveloped by her slick heat was swimming through his stomach.

She lifted her hips up to him, hooking one leg over his, her heel in the back of his shin.

"Oh god I love you," he groaned as their bodies joined, his voice raw, "I love you…" His mouth was on her forehead as he breathed the words and she tilted her face up until she found his mouth with hers.

"I love you too," she whispered in return, feeling his hips jerk against her as she said it. She gripped his shoulders, holding onto him as he moved and she lifted her body up to his, groaning simultaneously.

His eyes were squeezed shut as he thanked whatever had brought her into his life; whatever had made her walk into his shop or seen something in him that made her take the time to talk to him, to smile at him, to accept his offer of dinner – because surely it couldn't feel this good without them being made to fit together.

He stroked his tongue along her neck, suckled on her soft skin, as she ground out his name, gasping her pleasure, urging him on. He slowed his movements, drawing their pleasure out, until she'd wrapped her legs around him and was bucking against him and he couldn't control himself.

Endless kissing; deep and passionate, his body still pressed on top of hers, still inside her, the glorious afterglow of shared orgasm. Then slowing; a flicker of lips against the other, a soft touch, her hand stroking his neck, curling into his hair.

She smiled peacefully as his lips left hers, his breath upon her forehead. His body leaning to the left, his head resting on the pillow beside hers, yet still on top of her, reluctant to move.

"Elspeth," he said, dreams of proposing in this perfect moment filling his mind, and she opened her eyes, his face inches from hers.

"You said that very seriously – you're not going to tell me something sad are you?"

"Something sad?" He said, stroking his hand down her bare arm, tracing the line of freckles there.

"Yes. Like 'Elspeth, I'm sorry but it's not working out.'" She said imitating his voice.

"Bite your tongue!" he tickled her arm and she grabbed his hand.

"We have to pack tomorrow, that makes me feel sad."

"Mmm."

"And I want to wash this bedding today, I know you said a cleaner comes in before the new tenants but I don't want her washing our sex-sheets."

He snorted, "Sex sheets!"

"That's what they are, we have had a fair amount of sex in them, on them, not sure which fits best."

"How about 'making love sheets?"

She wrinkled her nose, "That sounds sissy."

He gripped her waist, his voice serious again, "Elspeth. Now that we've had all this sex, I've got to tell you, I'm afraid it's not working out."

"Oh you!" He fell onto his back as she hit him with her pillow, until he pulled her top of him and she flopped onto her back, her head on his stomach.

She groaned as she stretched out and he gazed at her body appreciatively; how could anyone ever want to hurt her?

"I hope the house moves along quickly," she said, pulling the sheets up over her. "I've got another four weeks off, I'd like to do something useful with them."

"You can work in my shop for free."

"You can bugger off."

"Hey!"

"I meant getting into the house, ripping up carpets, tearing off wallpaper."

"I hate wallpaper."

"So do I, I'm glad we're agreed on that."

"I like smooth walls, clean lines."

"Yes. And large artwork."

He smiled down at her, "For brief seconds I forget how perfect you are. Then it all comes flooding back."

She smiled pompously and shook out her hair, "Thank you darling."

He traced his fingertip down her neck, "That's the first time you've ever called me darling."

"I'm sorry, that's not my word. Thank you honey."

"Call me what the hell you like, as long as it's filled with affection not annoyance I don't care."

She felt his hand brush the sheet aside as his fingers moved over her breasts and she closed her eyes. He dipped further, shifting the bedclothes so his palm could trace over the curve of her hip. "Your skin's like silk."

"Mmm," she hummed, content beneath his touch. "We don't have time for this, not if we're going to have breakfast before we leave, and I need to shower."

"I'll help you shower…"

She cracked an eye open at him, "Like that's going to speed us up." Rolling over she rested her hands on his chest and her chin upon them. "Tomorrow we can stay in bed all day if you like, especially as we're going to have to make the most of it."

His brow furrowed, confused.

"With Anna staying, my apartment's gone now remember. And from the limited amount of texts I've received she hasn't found anywhere to rent. So, looks like we have a flat mate…"

"And no sex?!"

She giggled, leaning up to kiss him, "Making love, darling."

* * *

It was another coach journey and then they were on a boat travelling across to Venice, they sat on the top floor, open to the spectacular view so Charles could take photographs. It was breezy despite the sunshine and Elsie pulled her shawl around her as she watched him, her hair blowing in the breeze. He looked very handsome as he leant against the side of the boat, his skin tanned and healthy, and he'd lost weight since Dubai – happiness agreed with him.

She thought of what they were doing only a few hours earlier and felt her stomach contract; she crossed her legs at the sensation. Around her were young couples, cuddled up together, heading towards one of the romantic destinations on earth, and yet here she was – middle aged and completely enraptured.

"Hey," he said as he returned to sit by her, popping the lens back on his camera. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing, just feeling happy." She hooked her arm around his and he kissed her head.

"Good."

She rested her head against his arm, staring out at the view, at the approaching city. Charles had told her that when they were in Dubai, the night watching the waterfall display, he'd never felt so content or realised with such certainty, that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. She wondered if how he'd felt then was how she felt now – because she'd never been certain about many things in her life (Anna, teaching, leaving Scotland), but she was certain of him.

"You're quiet," he whispered, kissing her head again.

"Just thinking." She sat up, her hair whipping him in the face as the breeze caught it and they both laughed as she tucked it behind her ears. "Sorry. Can we get coffee first, then do St Mark's Basilica? I'm so looking forward to exploring it."

"We can." He thought he'd grant her anything if she looked at him like that again, with the same excitement in her eyes.

"I've been reading about it," she said, taking a guidebook from her bag. I'm intrigued by these horses, I know the ones outside are replicas now but their whole history is fascinating, moved about so much – who would have thought in the thirteenth century they had the means to transport them so. And we can see the real ones in the museum." She smiled, biting down on her bottom lip, "If I bore you with all this history stuff feel free to wander off and leave me to it."

"You know I'm as fascinated by it as you are."

She snuggled against him again, watching the dome of St. Mark's come into view.

They walked for hours – she must have a spent couple of hours alone working her way around the Basilica. He followed her for a while, took pictures, listened in on talks and when she was ready they headed outside again into the busy square.

There were shops along the outskirts of the piazza and they meandered around them, content to browse and stay in the shade during the hottest part of the day. She purchased a couple of trinkets for Anna and earrings for Beryl and then she spotted a painting of Venice that she thought perfect for Charles' birthday. Of course she'd already got him something (tucked away in the back of the wardrobe at home) but this was too nice to ignore. She waited until he'd wandered off to take more photographs, pretending she was intrigued by the scarves in there, and quizzed the vendor on the possibility of having it shipped to England. It would cost but could be done, so she'd hastily filled in the appropriate documents and paid before re-joining him outside.

They shared pizza at a restaurant overlooking the water, watching boats come and go, Piazza San Marco behind them.

"I've had such a wonderful time here," she said as they finished their wine. "Thank you for bringing me," she reached to hold his hand, folding her fingers with his on top of the table. "Thank you for my lovely birthday present."

"You're very welcome." He lifted her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it before she turned her attention back to the view.

"Elspeth…" he said seriously, the thoughts returning again, that this was the time, this was the place.

"Hmm…"

But his mother's ring was at home in his safe. Freshly polished and waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right place.

"Shall we go on a gondola next?"

"Ooh I'd love that!" she gasped. "Can we have ice-cream in one, like in the old Cornetto advert?"

He chuckled, "I'd forgotten that, I'll buy you ice-cream after, before we have to re-board that bloody coach.

"Alright. Though I want to get those chocolates before we go, you think they'll survive the journey home?"

"To the villa or England?"

"The villa," she said, shaking her head. "We can enjoy them tomorrow as we pack."

"I think they'll survive."

"Good," she quickly got to her feet, hooking her shoulder bag across her and dangling her shopping in her left hand. "Ready?" She said placing money on to the table.

He picked half of it back up, replaced it with his own and handed her it back.

"Charles…"

"Save it for the chocolates."

"Alright," she kissed him quickly.

"That was nice. Can I have more?"

"You don't agree with kissing in public," but she leant in closer this time, rested her hand on his shoulder and kissed him sweetly. "There. Better?"

"Better." And he felt proud that all around him had witnessed it.

* * *

**Italy – Day 13**

They woke late the following day, having being delayed on the journey back and getting in too late for anything other than a cup of tea and bed.

Charles woke first – the sunlight bothering him. He was lying on his side facing the patio windows, he could feel Elsie's warmth behind him, her arm draped over his side and he felt terrible to have to slide out from her hold and out of the bed.

In the bathroom he washed his face and rubbed his chin, he needed to shave but they didn't have plans for the day besides packing and swimming, possibly some walking, so perhaps he'd leave it, live on the wild side, he'd shave tonight before they went out for dinner, before he put his plan into action.

On the coach the previous night he'd tried to read, but reading aboard moving vehicles always made him feel sick so instead he'd planned. Tonight, he'd take her to a family-run restaurant in the town, then afterward he'd suggest a final walk down to the lake. The place where she'd told him she loved him – it seemed an eternity ago now – and once there, content and alone, he'd propose. Damn the ring, he'd just have to do it again when they got home, but this place seemed to have become unbelievably special to them over the past thirteen days and he rather liked the idea that on the official anniversary of their first ever date he would be proposing marriage.

When he came back into the bedroom she was on her back staring at the ceiling.

"Morning," he smiled, bending to kiss her. "You want some tea?"

"That would be lovely."

"And eggs?"

"Can I have a boiled egg actually?" she said starting to get up.

"You stay there, I can do it. Soldiers too?"

She smiled, "You make me sound like a child but yes I will." When he'd gone she sat up, finding her iPad and logging in to check her emails. They'd had replies from the solicitor, all was progressing fine, surveys were due to start in the next day or two. An email from Anna with a picture of the shop attached, '_To prove I haven't burnt it down.'_ And an invitation from Beryl to go for tea on Tuesday night.

"Charles," she shouted, "do you mind if we go for dinner to Beryl's on Tuesday?"

"Not at all. Can't think I have anything on." He said, coming back with her tea.

She hastily typed her reply, already looking forward to seeing her friend. "We'll have to pick Bill some whisky up from the duty free or something. I thought I'd just see Beryl when I gave her the gifts."

"Fine. I might get Richard some too, maybe some perfume for Izzy."

"Perfume? That's quite a personal gift."

He shrugged, "I know what she likes. Best go check the toast."

She finished her email to Beryl, _'See you Tuesday – make your steak pie! I'll bring brownies. xx E. P.S. I have used (and meant) the L word many times now! :-)_

"Its raining again," she says as he brings in their breakfast.

"I know, probably just another early morning thing."

"It's almost ten o'clock."

He sits at the bottom of the bed, placing the tray between them - she curls her legs beneath her to eat and his are stretched along the opposite side. "It'll be gone soon." He says confidently.

He watches her eat, dipping her toast into her egg – "Just runny enough," she'd proclaimed as she'd taken the top off – and he thinks how wonderful it is to be domestic.

She digs her toes into his outer thigh, wiggling them, "What are you thinking about?"

"I was just thinking…" he says, gripping and squeezing her toes, "Happy Anniversary."

She turns her face up to his, questioningly.

"A year ago today we had our first date, in an Italian restaurant, would you believe."

Her smile is dazzling, "So we did." She puts her tray aside, strokes her thumb down the arch of his foot. "How wonderful of you to remember the date."

"I have lots of dates stored up here," he tapped the side of his head, "The first time we kissed…"

"On the couch in your flat whilst I was fixing your website."

He nods, happily, "The first time we danced."

"In that pub, a Friday night after work."

"And the first time we… well, you know."

"Shared our bodies?"

"Elsie!" he growls, mock-scandalised.

"How would you rather I phrase it?"

He chuckled, lying back on the bed. "You can carry on rubbing my leg there Els."

"Oh can I indeed." She pinched the skin on his ankle before stroking his leg again, rolling his pyjama bottoms up out of the way as she tickled him.

"Did you know," he said closing his eyes and listening to the rain. "That England gets less than three inches of rain in August."

"I did not. I don't tend to measure it. Did you know that English people consume more tea per capita than anybody else in the world."

"Really? Ooh I like that one. Okay, so, did you know that dolphins like to get high off puffer fish toxins?"

"I did know that actually. I saw a documentary on it."

"Me too."

She sat up, "My turn to be tickled I think."

He rolled his eyes, "Alright."

She rolled onto her stomach, resting her hands beneath her chin as he moved to lie beside her.

"Where am I tickling?"

"My back please."

He began to stroke his fingers leisurely up her spine; he remembered the first time she'd asked for this and he'd clumsy stroked his entire hand up and down her back far too quickly, and she'd gently taken his hand in hers and shown him exactly what she wanted. Now, he was expert at it, and she was humming lowly at his touch.

"Your turn," he prompted.

"Erm… I'm sleepy, you tell me more."

"Did you know," he started, "that Cambridge University Press is the world's oldest printing and publishing house, and the second largest university press in the world."

She chuckled, "I bet you know lots of book facts."

He smiled, "Hay-on-Wye has the world's largest second-hand book market."

"Have you been?"

"Yes."

She wiggled a little, hinting for him to move to her shoulders.

"Where is it?"

"On the border with Wales."

"Can we go?"

"I'll take you," he bent to kiss her head. "Thought we'd go for a walk later, have dinner in town, then to the lake for our last night."

"Mmm, that sounds nice," she yawned, rolling over onto her back. "I suppose I ought to get up and pack."

"Will you do mine too?"

She smiled up at him, "Will you tickle my back again later?"

"I'd do that for free," he kissed her until he pushed him onto his back and slid off the bed.

"Tease." He said, watching her undress. Folding his arms beneath his head he settled back against the pillows. "Are you going to pack naked?"

"Nooo," she drawled, searching in a drawer. "I'm going to put a dress on and then pack."

"I'd prefer it naked."

"I'm sure you would." She threw a t-shirt at him, "Go make some more tea would you. I'm thirsty again."

"Trying to make sure we meet our quota are you?"

"Oh absolutely."

* * *

It rained all day.

And Charles sulked.

They didn't get the chance to swim again or visit the town square for their evening meal or walk the short distance to the shops for any last minute purchases. They played Scrabble in the lounge and Charles made Bruschetta for lunch.

But none of that really mattered, because what Charles was really upset about was that his proposal has been thwarted by the weather.

There seemed little chance of it clearing by the evening and besides that the ground would be soaked and slippery and the sky had remained overcast all day so no chance of a moonlit proposal by the lake.

As they made dinner together he thinks maybe it's for the best. Maybe he's rushing it. She's only just said she loves him. They're only just buying a house. They've only been dating a year.

He's draining the pan of pasta as he thinks on this – it's heavy and slips and he shouts out as the water makes contact with his skin.

She's behind him in an instant, rolling his sleeve out of the way and holding his arm under lukewarm water. Charles reached to turn on the cold tap.

"No, just cool, not cold." She said, his skin was already looking red and supple. "Wait there." She went to fetch the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over his shoulders.

"I'm not an invalid." He said, biting his lip against the sting.

"No, but I want to make sure your temperature doesn't drop."

"It's not that bad really," he twisted his arm beneath the water.

"Maybe not but I'm not risking it."

"I lost half the pasta."

"I'll put more on." She emptied the pan and refilled it with water from the kettle. "Don't take your arm out yet."

"Stupid old fool, I was thinking of something else. In a daydream."

She stroked his back, "What were you thinking of?"

"Nothing. Something that can wait."

Kissing his cheek she reached to his fingers, moving his arm so she could see how large the scald was. "Shouldn't be too bad, you feel alright?"

"Yes. Silly. Clumsy. As a child my mum used to say I was the clumsiest boy she'd ever encountered."

"How positively glowing of her." She added pasta to the pan of water. He watched her as she turned off the sauce she'd made, laid out their dishes and took Parmesan from the fridge. He liked these moments, the domestic moments, having somebody to cook with, to eat with, to share the evening with.

"What were you like when you were pregnant?" He suddenly asked, picturing her nesting.

She chortled, "Fat!"

"I bet not."

"No not really. My ankles swelled and I had chubby fingers but my bump was fairly small, Anna was a small baby. As you can see she's still tiny now. She sent a picture by the way, the shop looks the same as when we left."

"Good. Remember how it used to look, mis-matched bookcases…"

"Piles and piles of books on the floor – always waiting to be tidied."

"Yes, yes, but you kept coming back."

"I was in desperate need of books. Besides, I rather liked the owner." She ran her hand over his bottom as she stood behind him, "And I like him even more now." She gave it a pinch.

"Hey, nobody said you could handle the merchandise."

"No," she suckled on his ear, "Make me stop."

"Bothering an injured man." He twisted his head to kiss her mouth.

"How's it feeling?"

"Numb."

"Alright, come on then," she held out a towel and he draped his arm in it, watching as she gently patted the water away. "Am I hurting you?"

"No, it feels fine. I'll put some cream on it."

"No don't, it's best just to leave it, we'll see how it looks later. Go sit down and I'll serve up."

Charles dosed after dinner, sat at one end of the sofa with his head lolling against the back of it. She sat at the opposite end, stretching out her legs and resting her feet in his lap, and opening up her book.

When he woke an hour later he groaned at the ache in his neck and the tightness of his arm.

"You alright?" She mumbled, hardly looking up from her book.

"Nothing alcohol won't cure."

She smiled, "I'll finish this page then go get dessert."

He squeezed her ankle, "What are you reading?"

"In Search of Shakespeare, it's good, slow in places but good. You want to read it after?"

"I've read it."

She was shaking her head as she marked her place with a bookmark, "Show off."

She fetched the box of chocolates from Venice from the kitchen, made a pot of tea and brought in the bottle of port too.

"Don't have too much," she said, watching him swallowing a mouthful. "We've got an early start."

"We should be back in England by lunch," he said, resting his head back again.

She placed the box of chocolates on the sofa between them, shifted the coffee table closer so she could reach her tea and settled herself back in her previous position, smiling as Charles automatically lifted his hands to allow her to place her feet in his lap.

"What do we have here then?" He said, his hand hovering over the box.

"Don't eat all the nutty ones before I get a chance."

"Well look, it's a mirrored box, so two of everything, that half for me, that half for you. Deal?"

"Deal." They both reached for the hazelnut whirl at the same time.

"This is nice isn't it," he said as he ate; chocolate, a glass of port in his hand, Elsie lying with him, warm and peaceful and secluded.

"Very nice." She watched as he took another chocolate, a dark one, a rich centre, how he tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he enjoyed it. "We can have evenings in our new house like this." She said suddenly, surprising them both.

"I was thinking the same thing," he said sheepishly.

"What other things have you thought of?" She asked gently.

"Winter. Frosty nights, a large fire burning in the library, curled up in my leather chair, preferably with you in my lap." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Snow on the fields. We can go walking in it. Christmas – a family dinner with Anna. You think she'll come?"

"You're joking! She's still like a child when it comes to presents and Santa."

"Wonderful."

"It will be." She said softly, because she could see it too, and the thought did something to her insides.

Putting her tea aside she manoeuvred onto her knees, leaning forward to kiss him – he tasted of chocolate and liquor, and she took her time tangling her tongue with his.

"What are you doing Ms Hughes?" He asked bashfully.

"I was thinking of making love to you," she was already loosening the buttons on his shirt. "Unless you'd rather I left you alone…"

"Just watch the chocolates."

They both giggled as they fell into another kiss.

She'd soon stripped him of his shirt, leaving it draped over the arm of the sofa, and was slipping from his lap, taking her time to unbuckle his belt. He lifted himself up, assisting her as she took down his trousers and underwear in one go.

"My, my Mr Carson…" she teased, tracing a fingertip along his length before getting to her feet and deliberately stripping in front of him.

"The things you do to me," he said shaking his head.

"The things I'm going to do to you…" she said playfully, taking her time folding her dress until he was practically begging for her, reaching forward to catch hold of her hip and bring her to him.

"Now be careful with that arm, it will be sore." She climbed into his lap, parting her legs either side of his, hovering over him, nudging his nose with hers.

"Love you." He said, nipping her lips.

"Love you too."

She pressed against him, her breasts against his chest, away from his touch, which drove him crazy – and she kissed him until he was dizzy, her tongue circling his, tasting him, showing him just how much she loved him. Perhaps if she did that, brought them both this overwhelming pleasure, the words that had dogged her for days now would ease, the nagging question…

"God Els," he gasped, fingernails digging into her. "I need you."

She lowered herself down onto him, heard his moan of pleasure, the way he breathed her name out. And she leant back, stretching, it pushed her chest up and she felt his hands cup her breasts, fingers on her nipples before his mouth replaced them.

"You feel so good," he ground out, enveloped in the most wondrous place he'd known; Elsie's warm, welcoming body.

His hands slid beneath her shoulder blades, pushing her body back up to his until he could kiss her again, then palms down to her hips, rolling with her as she moved – back, forth, and he was panting, desperately trying to hold onto his release.

She kissed his forehead, changed the rhythm and felt him pulsing inside her. "Charles!" She gasped, closing her eyes, feeling the muscles in her stomach clench in sweet anticipation.

"Don't leave me," he gasped, holding her tight to him, "don't ever, ever leave me."

She held his face in her hands, kissed him soundly, "Never."

* * *

"No kissing in public places," he warns as she leans across him on the plane, reaching for a magazine from their bag and kissing him as she goes to sit up again.

"Nobody is watching," she says, glancing around. People are still getting on board and as with all human activities most are solely focussed on their own task. "Besides, at least I'm not suggesting we meet in the toilets or leaning over you to carry out unspeakable acts of passion."

"Elsie!" he hisses, glancing around.

She shakes her head, "Nobody is listening, they probably think two old folks like us are discussing the weather or politics or radio 4."

"I like radio 4."

"I know."

She leans in and kisses him, drawing it out deliberately. "And presently I can't seem to want to stop kissing you."

"You're wicked."

"I know. Taking your mind off the flight."

"If I get nervous later will you do it again?"

"Just ask," she flips open her magazine. "I'll have tea when they bring the drinks and a bottle of water."

"Fine," he's gazing about the cabin, watching the fuss and bother as people search for their seats. She's already halfway through an article on a new drama series starting on Sunday nights.

"How anyone can carry out any acts of passion in those wretched little toilets is beyond me," he suddenly says full of pomp, and she's still laughing as they prepare for take-off.

* * *

He's in a playful mood as they land, the gratitude of another safe flight, and as they make their way to passport control he's trying to steal her passport and take a look at the picture.

"Let me see yours first," she giggles, hiding hers behind her back as they walk, following the crowds through the grey corridors.

He confidently flips his open, "See how dark my hair is."

"Oh yes, you look much younger. I'd forgotten you used to look like that." She teased.

"Hey!" He snapped his closed, "Now yours then."

She slowly handed it over and he laughed when he saw it.

"That's not nice." She shut it again.

"I'm joking, I'm joking."

"I hate having those pictures taken."

"Don't we all, you look fine, just not as gorgeous as in the flesh." He leant in to kiss her.

"Hmm, not sure you're allowed a kiss now, after laughing at me. Not sure we should even share a car home."

He chuckled, hugging her for a moment before they moved forward in the queue.

"Ah well, looks like you're stuck with me now Elspeth Hughes – I've seen your passport picture." He said.

She was silent for the rest of the time they queued, listening to him chatter on about the rules and regulations of what you could and couldn't bring into the country, watching families struggle with unruly and exhausted children, babies sleeping in father's arms, young couples either clamped together after a fortnight of loving or standing apart after a fortnight proved they were incompatible.

She wondered how she and Charles were viewed by others.

There were couples their age, talking or checking phones or staring into the distance hoping to shorten the queue by power-of-the-mind alone. She felt Charles' hand touch her back, resting lightly at the base of her spine as they moved forward and there was such warmth in the action, and she really couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd felt safer, more cared for, more secure.

When they reached the front of the queue she noticed couples going to the desks together, as did families. "Two of you?" The security guard asked her as she waited for her turn to go forward.

"We're not married." She said softly, Charles was distracted, talking to an elderly gentleman behind them about his trip to Australia.

The guard sent her forward alone and as she handed her passport across and waited for it to be scanned she looked back at Charles still stood in the queue waiting to move forward. She'd have to wait for him to catch up.

By time they reached luggage retrieval words were tumbling around in her head, people were pushing and shoving to get closest to the carousel and Charles was standing slightly in front of her looking out for their cases.

"You'll have to prod me when you see yours," he said over his shoulder, "so many look the same."

She bit her lip, staring at his back, reaching to touch his arm.

"What? Is it here?" He glanced around at her, "Els?"

"I do want to be stuck with you."

Confusion seems to pass over his face as he tries to hear her clearly. "What?"

"I_ do_ want to be stuck with you."

He turns fully to face her, the noise of the airport disappearing into a dull buzzing around them.

"What does that mean?"

She stepped closer to him, terrified, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, throat so tight she can barely breathe let alone speak, "Marry me." She says lowly, almost afraid of giving the words life.

His eyes are wide, mouth gaping, he's trembling as he tries to comprehend what she's asking – here, right here in the airport with hundreds of strangers and noise and she's…

"You mean it?"

"More than anything."

Her hand is on his chest and she's starting to smile. "Don't make me get on one knee."

"Oh god," he suddenly grips her fiercely to him, dropping the bag he's holding, pulling her body flush against his and burying his face in her neck as he holds her.

* * *

_Happy faces...!? Let me know what you think - you know how much I love reading your thoughts and am forever grateful for your support. xx_


	27. Chapter 27

_HUGE thank you and hugs for the overwhelming response to the last chapter (not sure I'll ever live up to it!) I'm so glad you enjoyed her proposal. Shall we see what Charles' response is..._

* * *

**Chapter 27**

**Coming Home**

He's shaking as he takes the cases from the carousel, the last two on there, going round and round as their owners stand in a dazed hug.

They don't speak as he lifts them down, tips them over so they're upright on their wheels and drags them behind him – a lopsided grin on his face. She picks up their travel bags from the floor and follows him out of the airport.

Somehow he makes it to their car without bursting into either tears of joy or uncontrollable laughter or bombarding her with a thousand questions.

"Car's still here," she says as he gets into the driver's side – his worry when they'd left it two weeks ago was that it would be sold on for scrap metal.

"So it seems."

She reaches to touch his hand, to steady him before he turns the key in the ignition. "Let's not go straight home, let's go have a drink or lunch somewhere. Anna's at the shop and I think…"

"…We might need to talk." He finishes.

She nods and he starts the engine – still lost for words.

They find a pub just off the M1 and sit outside far from others so they can talk.

"English air," he says as he sits on the bench beside her, "Nothing like it."

"No, there isn't." She breathes deeply, circles the rim of her wine glass with her small finger. "And the sun is shining."

"And the grass has been cut and it smells divine."

She smiles at him, tilting her head to one side to regard him as he takes a gulp of his beer – to steady his nerves perhaps. "Should we talk about the weather some more…or…?"

"Or…"

"Or maybe you can give me an answer, perhaps." She's careful not to touch him, to make sure it's clear in his own mind – she thinks she's never been clearer about anything before.

"Did you mean it?" He asks gently, hesitantly, and she watches his fingers drum against his half empty glass.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

He grins then, a wide uncontrollable grin, shaking his head, roughing his hand through his hair. "You know it's all wrong. All back to front."

"Why?!"

"Well because I should be the one…"

"Oh, what century are we in Charles!"

"I have a ring," he said softly and looks up, registering her surprise. "My mother's, found it when I cleaned out the attic before you moved in, had it polished, just in case you ever showed signs you were ready…" he swallowed, an awkward lump in his throat, "You didn't show signs." He said, "And I take it that this wasn't planned."

"Yes, I'd _often_ dreamed of proposing to you at Birmingham airport."

He shook his head, "So, spur of the moment?"

Now she touches him, her heart constricting at the thought he thinks her proposal a mistake, an off-hand reaction. She squeezes his hand, "It doesn't mean I didn't mean it."

He opens his mouth to speak but finds he can't think what to say.

"Of course I meant it." She says, her voice clouded with emotion, her accent thick as her feelings take over. She slides along the bench until she's touching his leg with hers. "I do mean it. I'm not saying let's rush and get married next week but yes, yes I do want to marry you."

He glances away, glad his back is to anyone else in the beer garden as hot tears slip down his cheeks and then she's pushing a tissue into his hand and somehow holding herself together.

"Are you going to accept?" She says longingly, a sweet expression as she watches him.

He nods, holding her gaze as much as he can with watery eyes, "Without doubt yes. Without a doubt."

She moves to hold him and they hug for a long time, Charles sniffling into her shoulder, Elsie not particularly caring if anyone sees her crying now as the tears find paths down her cheeks.

"We're engaged," he finally says, leaning back to look at her. "I'm engaged, at my age. I can still get proposed to!"

"Don't get big-headed."

"Do we get to have a party? I mean, an engagement party?"

"I suppose so."

He smiles, his excitement beginning to mount, the hand that rests on her shoulder is still shaking, in fact his entire body seems to be trembling. "And – to marry," he swallows, "I'd never have thought..."

"Let's buy the house first hey, make that our priority this year. Then plan the wedding."

He's shaking his head, tears starting afresh, "I can't believe this, you don't just want to get married you want a wedding! A real wedding?"

"Of course I do, we should marry in church – in the sight of God." It was a registry office first time round and she wants this one done right, because the way she feels for him should be done right, should be celebrated in the sight of God.

"Oh darling," he reaches to stroke her face, kisses her hand, "I never dreamed… not for years… I thought you'd need years of this, of us, and the counselling – that was if you ever would consider marriage again,"

"Some things are obvious even to me."

"Why? When?"

She shrugged, "I'm not sure. I suppose the idea had been there, we've both thought of it," she said pointedly. "And then at the airport I just thought I can't bear to be without you, so why am I not married to you? Why am I waiting? What's there to wait for?"

He hugged her again, pulling her tight to him and kissing her face, her head, her shoulder… wherever he could reach.

"People will stare," she giggled. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, held him still. "Shall we see if they're still serving food, it's after two and I'm starving."

He nodded, snuffling again. "Sorry, I'm not usually an emotional man."

"I think it's rather sweet." She stroked the tears from his cheeks, brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. "Kinda sexy too."

His fingers curled into the material of her cardigan, "I want to take you to bed…" he whispered, kissing her hair.

"To seal the deal?" She gave him a watery smile.

"I suppose so."

"I'll go order food – should I take it you want what ever type of pie they have on the menu?"

"Steak would be best and potatoes or mash or chips – not those ghastly fries." He said, how quickly he reverted back to the Charles she knew and loved.

"Yes, I know." She was digging her purse from her bag. "Hope they have a card machine, I've got no cash."

"Get champagne, let's celebrate." He said as she hooked her legs over the bench and turned around.

He held her arm as she stood, supporting her.

"You're driving." She bent close to kiss his cheek, "Let's get champagne when we get home and celebrate with Anna."

"You want to tell her?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm bursting to tell the world. I just didn't want to rush you."

She smiled, "We'll tell Anna when we get home, we can tell Beryl on Tuesday at dinner, I'd rather that than over the phone."

"And I'll arrange something with Richard and Isobel," he grinned, chuckling as he thought on it. "Izzy thought I'd never marry."

"Hmm…" _Well, how wrong people can be_, Elsie thought as she headed into the pub.

* * *

"You've missed the turn off," Elsie said, pointing at the sign they'd just passed, "You're not _still_ daydreaming about somehow booking York cathedral for our nuptials."

"Perfectly logical question."

"As to whether we should get _married_ there?"

"Yes…" He drawled. "But you're right; it should be my local church. And I haven't missed the turn off, we're not going into Harrogate yet."

"And where are we going?"

"To pay a visit to our house."

She shook her head, "Charles…"

"What? It's empty, we can mosey outside."

"Oh can we now?"

The early evening sky was decorated with pink and orange clouds and as they pulled into the driveway, the crack of gravel beneath the tyres, the house seemed bathed in colour.

"Garden's getting overgrown," she said, slipping off her seatbelt.

"I can't wait to get my hands on it," he said and she turned to look at him, the joyous expression on his face making her smile.

"I love it so much," he said, putting on the handbrake and turning off the engine.

"You old fool," she rubbed his arm, "Come on – let's mosey."

They trudged up the driveway, Elsie reaching to hold his hand and he swung hers as they walked.

"I'm going to give Frank a call tomorrow, get him out here to price things up."

"Don't you think that's a bit premature, we've only just started the process?"

"Better to be ahead of the game I always think."

They wandered around the back of the building, pushing open gates and into the back yard. Charles pressed his face against the kitchen window as Elsie stood on the patio and looked over the garden.

"We can knock down that wall, open it right up, then have all the counter space along here," he said pointing out his plans.

"Have you sketched all this?"

"I have, Frank will get it drawn up properly of course when he has measurements. Then we can get prices."

He turned back to her, her silhouette perfectly outlined as the evening light began to darken. "We'll have a table out here." He said moving behind, sliding his hands around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. The sun was setting over the fields in the distance.

"I'd like one of those swing things, maybe over there," she pointed out a spot beneath the trees. "So I can laze in the summer and read."

He smiled, kissing her cheek, "That's the first time you've said something you'd like here."

She turned in his arms, "I don't want to get too carried away until the keys are in my hands. Then I'll go DIY galore."

"I can hardly wait. But I'm still calling Frank tomorrow. I'll get carried away for the both of us."

She regarded his gleeful expression, eyes sparkling in mischief. "Oh dear, my future husband."

He almost choked on her words, "Wow, wasn't quite prepared for how that sounded."

"Want me to try it again for you?"

"Yes. Slowly."

"My. Future. Husband…"

"Yeah. I _kinda_ like the sound of it."

"I'm 'kinda' glad." She lifted herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him, "our first kiss here."

"Make it good one then."

"Come on, let's go get our champagne and tell my daughter she's gaining a stepfather."

He swallowed; his grip on her arms tightening.

"What? Charles you look terrified."

"I'd never thought of it."

She bit her bottom lip, "Well, you don't have to be, if you don't want to." She slid her palms over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his heartbeat. "I mean she'd never ask…"

"Of course I want to be. I'd just never," he licked his lips, his mouth dry. "I never thought I'd get to be a father."

"Well, you'll be wonderful at it."

* * *

They decided to get Chinese food on the way home, and Charles was pestering for prawn crackers in the car.

"How can you be hungry? You had that huge pie at lunch."

"I'm a growing man. Please…" he said, opening his mouth.

She slid her hand into the bag and took one out, feeding it to him.

"Thank you," he said between crunches. "My favourite bit." He reached to turn up the dial on the radio, "Let's sing Els!" he said enthusiastically as the presenter started talking over the end of a track.

"Okay, whatever's on next we'll sing." She giggled, "You're not usually so free and easy with your singing."

"I've never been engaged before." He smiled, turning the volume up even more.

"Ooh classic," she said as the first dramatic notes started and Charles wrinkled his nose as he tried to work out what it was. She turned in her seat to face him, placing her hand over her heart and melodramatically sang, "_When I said I needed you_…"

"Dusty Springfield!" He laughed.

"…_You said you would always stay_… Come on then, put the effort in."

When they reached the chorus he finally joined in and they sang exuberantly together, "_You don't have to say you love me, just be close at hand. You don't have to stay forever, I will understand. Believe me, believe me, I can't help but love you, but believe I'll never tie you down…_"

"Only I will tie you down," she said loudly over the music, "Or rather I am going to tie you down."

"Oh I'll let you, both literally and metaphorically."

He pulled into the parking space reserved for him behind the shop and came around to help her, holding the box of food as she got out. He took the bags from the back seat and hooked them over his arm.

"I'll fetch the cases as you dish up," he said as she unlocked the door.

"I'm not your wife yet, bossy."

"Bossy hey," he patted her bottom with the champagne.

"Hey…" she chided.

As they pushed open the entrance to the flat Elsie was giggling and pushing away his hand that rested on her bum, "Stop." She said, the box of Chinese food balancing on one hand, "I'll drop this. Put that in the fridge until we've told her."

But when they got into the hallway and Charles shut the door with his foot there was a decidedly familiar sound coming from the lounge. A sound that initially caused a tightening in Charles' groin – then his brain kicked in, it wasn't Elsie making the sound.

Clearly Elsie hadn't registered it as she put the box down on the phone table, and hung her door keys on the hook, still smiling at him. But then it was louder and Charles rolled his eyes closed. This wasn't going to go well.

"What the…" Elsie fumed, marching towards the closed door. He followed after her, red-faced and embarrassed at what was happening on his couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" She said standing over the two semi-naked figures on the sofa.

"Mum!" Anna yelped, reaching for her top from the floor, the man on top of her kneeling back and dragging his shirt across his lower body. "I thought I must have got the date wrong when you didn't come home. Thought it was tomorrow."

"We went for lunch. What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, on Charles' couch? And who the fuck are you?!" She roared, her ire increasing with every second.

"Oh shit…" Charles groaned behind her.

"What?" She glanced back at him, ashamed by her daughter's actions.

"Elsie, meet my brother John."

* * *

Sitting across from each other either side of the coffee table Charles and John both stared at their knees, hands looped together between them.

They could hear a muffled argument coming from the kitchen; Elsie shouting, Anna shouting back.

Sighing Charles reached forward to the prawn crackers on the table, taking out two and snacking on them.

"Didn't mean for it to happen," John said.

"Just fell on her did you."

"You know what I mean."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, to ask if you'd mind if I stay," Charles looked up at him, noted the slightly dark expression. "Having a bad time of it back home, I needed to get away, find a job over here."

"You're not going back to Ireland?"

"Not yet no."

"And Anna…?"

"I got here – two weeks ago I think. We just hit it off." He shrugged.

"Hit. It. Off. Grow up, she's 25, you're…"

"38, I'm 38."

"Bloody hell John."

"I know, I know. But she's… we just clicked, I just feel… she's great, and we just had this instant connection. Intellectual. Physical. Emotional."

Charles leant back in his chair, Elsie would not react well to this kind of spiritual nonsense, Anna may well have fallen for it.

"Don't mess with her," Charles said. "I'm warning you on that. You've been married and divorced, got no end of women behind you, don't hurt her."

John shook his head, "Look, don't get heavy with me, I'm not here to cause trouble."

"Don't ruin this for me," Charles said strongly, behind him a door slammed and Anna stomped into the room.

"We're leaving," she said to John. "Get your stuff."

Charles got to his feet, watching as she shoved things into her bag.

"Where are you going?" He said softly, digging his hands into his pocket – he really wasn't comfortable with all this domestic stuff.

"I don't know, a hotel, or sleep in John's car."

"Don't be ridiculous," Charles implored. "Stay and calm down and we'll talk this through."

"She's not calm." Anna shouted, pointing at the kitchen. "Treats me like a fucking child!" And then she was heading down the hallway, pulling on her coat.

Charles grabbed John's arm, stuffed a handful of notes into it, "You take her to a hotel, no car, and you look after her. I mean it."

John nodded, "My number's on the table in the hall, I wrote it down for you the other day."

The flat seemed oddly quiet when the door closed after them. Some homecoming.

Exhausted and with a headache forming he found his way to the kitchen, Elsie was leaning against the sink, staring out of the window at the town lights.

"I can't believe she's done that," she said, staring at him in the window's reflection. "I mean she's always so sensible, so level headed. Why would she do that – jump into bed with a man she hardly knows, an older man, somebody so close to you?"

He shrugged and she turned to face him, arms folded over her chest.

"Don't do that, tell me, explain it to me."

"I don't know Els, I don't know the whole story, I don't know what's gone on between them."

"Oh I think we know very well what's been going on between them – screwing about in our flat, we'll have to change our bed sheets!"

"She wouldn't have been there."

"Wouldn't she? I didn't think she'd sleep with a stranger but I was wrong about that too." She ran a hand through her hair groaning. "God, what a way to come home. So much for celebrating hey."

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant but he felt dejected, he was so looking forward to popping the champagne and toasting with the two of them.

"I'm going to check the shop, set the alarm down there, then I think we should go to bed. Deal with things tomorrow."

"Sure, what else is there to do?"

* * *

When Charles woke the following morning his head felt like it had been hit with a hammer. Elsie was already up; he could hear her banging about in the kitchen and the whirring of the washing machine.

Wearily he got out of bed, pulled on jogging bottoms and a t-shirt and went to face up to things.

"Morning." He said, opening the fridge and taking out juice.

"Hi. We need to go shopping. Or I do. There's not much in there. She was obviously too distracted to get in some food."

He filled a glass, opened a drawer searching for tablets.

"Do you feel unwell?" She asked as she filled the teapot.

"Headache."

She rested her hand on his forehead, "Probably all the travel yesterday. It's easy to pick up bugs on the plane. Do you want some toast?"

"Not just yet." He sank into a chair and rested his arms on the table, "How long have you been up?"

"Hours it seems."

"And have you spoken with Anna?"

She shook her head, her back to him, "Why should I?"

He bit his tongue – _because you're upset_ – he wants to say, but doesn't.

Sighing he finishes his juice. "You want to do anything today?"

"You mean despite washing all of our holiday clothes and cleaning the flat."

He rolled his eyes as she added milk to their tea, this certainly wasn't the mood he wanted to find her in, he'd always known she could have a foul mood when provoked.

"Think I'm going to go to church, I haven't been in a while after all."

"Alright."

He got up and rested his hands on her shoulders, "Thought I might make enquiries – how long in the future we need to plan for."

"Okay."

"Am I only going to get one word answers this morning?"

"I'm not really in the mood for chatting."

He slid his hands from her shoulders, "I get that. You want to come with me? You've still not seen the inside of the church."

"Not today, I can't be bothered to shower and get changed."

"You do realise this isn't my fault don't you?" He asked as he watched her sort their washing.

"Sorry?"

"This, with Anna and John, it isn't my fault."

"I never said it was did I?"

"No, but you're not acting like it isn't neither."

She stopped what she was doing, stood up to face him, "I don't meant to be snappy with you. I'm just upset, annoyed. Of course I don't blame you, you didn't know he was going to turn up, or that my daughter would end up sleeping with him. How long has it been since you've seen him anyhow?"

"God years. Years and years. I told you we exchange letters, that's it, and I haven't had one for about eight months." He shrugged, "I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I."

He took a sip of his tea, "I better go change, or I'll be late. Do you want me to get anything whilst I'm out?"

"No its fine, I'll go to the supermarket and stock up. I'll make something for dinner, maybe a roast, it is Sunday."

"That sounds nice," he forced her to pause, his hands tight on her hips "Stop for a second hey," and he pulled her into a tight hug. "It's almost twenty-four hours since you proposed. Let's just enjoy that fact for a moment."

A small smile slowly emerged, "I'm sorry last night was ruined," she mumbled against his shoulder, returning his hug. She knew how excited he was; he couldn't wait to tell people, to share their news.

"I suspect Richard and Isobel will be there this morning, do you mind if I arrange an evening for dinner?"

"Of course not." She said softly. "Invite them here."

He's grateful of the offer. "I will. Our first guests. We can tell them about the house too."

She pulled back, smiling, "We can."

"And I'll do the ironing this afternoon."

"Deal."

* * *

After dinner they stand side-by-side at the kitchen sink doing the dishes.

"So Richard wasn't there?"

"Had to work apparently." Charles said, reaching for a dish to dry. "Had a good chat with Izzy though, she said Thursday, if you're okay with that."

"Suits me, I don't have other plans."

"Great. I'll cook."

"You don't trust me?"

She was prickly today, "Of course I do. I just don't want you to feel you have to."

"Let's share it."

"Better idea."

They were silent for a while as she refilled the sink, Charles stared out of the window to the view of the town, a light summer drizzle just starting.

"I miss Italy." He said.

She chuckled, "Yes, things seemed simpler there."

"Why don't you call her?" He suddenly asked, wishing he hadn't when she snapped round to look at him.

"Why should I? Do you think I'm in the wrong, last night, did you think I was in the wrong?"

He swallowed, searching for words, "No, I didn't say that."

"Then why should I be the one to call and apologise?"

"I didn't say apologise, I said call…" This was quickly getting out of hand. "Just call and talk, you clearly feel bad, upset, so talk to her."

She dropped pans into the sink, sending splash onto the counter; he mopped it up with a cloth.

"She can't seriously date this man, it's ridiculous. I said as much last night, but she insisted it 'wasn't just sex', fancy, as if it's some sort of huge romance that's taken over her life in the fourteen days I've been away."

"These things happen."

"Not with Anna. She's sensible, always has been, never even a boyfriend at school, not until University did she even date." She glanced at him, "And don't try telling me that teenagers don't share things because she did, she always did."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that, as if I know anything about parenting. All I'm saying is there's nothing we can do about it though, just wait and see what happens."

"The hell with that."

"Well we can hardly storm round and demand that she comes home from the hotel, she is twenty-five."

"What hotel? Do you know where they are?"

"No, but I gave him money to –,"

"You gave your brother money to take my daughter to a hotel?"

"It's not how it sounds, she said they'd sleep in his car so I gave him money for a hotel, I knew he wouldn't have any…"

"This man gets better by the second. This _situation_ gets better by the second – you gave your brother money so he could take my daughter to some sleazy hotel in order to screw her!?"

"Elsie!"

"Well, that's true isn't it."

"You know very well it isn't, and I'd prefer it if you calmed down."

"Calmed down!" She huffed then turned back to the sink, plunging her hands into the hot water.

"I didn't want her sleeping on the streets, I care about her too."

"She's meant to be applying for jobs, going places, finding some top gallery to employ her. Not messing about with some idiot."

"She will find a gallery, she's very bright…"

She cut him off, "All those years paying for her education, degree, post-graduate, masters,

"She won't waste it." He tried to interject.

"I don't want her to work here forever," she said, slamming a plate into the sink

"Thanks very much." He picked up a handful of cutlery to dry.

"Oh you know what I mean, I want more for her, more than that – marrying an older man and working in a book shop."

"No, because that's your life, isn't it."

"Stop being bloody difficult."

"Me! Bloody hell Elsie, you're the one being difficult, judgemental."

"She's my daughter!"

"And she's nothing to me?"

"No, that's not what I mean, of course that's not what I mean, but it's different…"

He nodded, "Yes, because as much as you might like to say I'm going to be her step-father I'm really nothing more than the guy dating her mother."

She sighed, suddenly feeling very sad, her hands stilling in the bowl of hot water. "You know that's not true."

He threw the towel down onto the side, "Isn't it?"

"Of course it isn't." She reached for his discarded cloth, drying her hands. "Charles, I don't want to argue with you over this."

"Neither do I. But you asked for my opinion and this is it."

"That she should enter into a relationship with a 38 year old divorcee?"

"That she should be allowed to make her own decisions…"

"Her own mistakes!"

He shrugged, "If it is a mistake then yes."

"I don't want her to end up like me!" She suddenly shouted. "Things have to be different for her."

"But she isn't you." He finally said, "She isn't you. And he isn't Joe. Or your father. For all his faults John wouldn't hurt her."

"Well, I don't know him do I." She said sadly, hurt that he would mention her two greatest weaknesses at a moment like this.

"But you don't want to take the time to get to neither."

"Not particularly no."

He shook his head, "This is going in circles. I'm going out."

"Where?"

"For a bike ride. Something. Anything."

"In the middle of a discussion like this, you're going out?!"

"What the hell does that matter? You're hardly listening to me."

"Say something worthwhile and I would."

"This is why I'm going out." He stomped out of the kitchen and she shouted after him.

"Is this how you deal with all of life's difficult problems, walk out on it?"

* * *

When he came home, many hours later, Elsie was curled up in a chair in the lounge, a blanket wrapped around her, her legs tucked beneath and her glasses sliding down her nose. He watched her for a moment by the door; years of a lightly-sleeping mother had taught him how to tiptoe.

"What are you reading?" He finally said, his voice low.

She looked up quickly, a slow smile coming across her face. "Far From the Madding Crowd. It's a re-read." She marked the page as she closed the book. "I first read it when I was seventeen, I noticed there's a new film version out and it made me remember how much I loved it." She slid her glasses off. "There's a moment I remember, I've never forgotten it," she smiled, covering her mouth almost bashfully. "It made me fall in love with Gabriel Oak."

He sat on the footrest in front of her, resting his hand on her foot, feeling her toes wiggle through the blanket, "I thought you loved me."

She nodded her head, "I do. And in some ways you remind me of Farmer Oak. There's a moment quite early on where he falls in love with Bathsheba and Hardy describes him loving the sound of her name and he's walking around in the frosty morning air saying her name repeatedly because of how it feels on his tongue and watching the air spiral out from his mouth, it thrills him, and I fell in love with him then. Seventeen and naïve."

He smiled, cast a glance to the floor and shook his head.

"You're laughing at me." She lightly tapped his arm. "Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing at it like that," He squeezed her foot. "I'm smiling because when I found out your name I kept repeating it in my head – Elspeth. Then I looked it up, for the meaning, that thrilled me, that somehow handling your name in my mind was bringing me closer to you."

"Oh Charles." She leant forward, sighing. "I don't like arguing with you. And I certainly don't want to argue with you over my daughter's poor choice of sexual partner."

"We weren't arguing, we were just disagreeing." He said, quoting her own words from months ago. "And I understand you're upset over Anna and I do agree, but I also think she's an adult and she makes her own decisions regardless…" He breathed deeply, sliding his hand up her leg. "And I'd also rather like to celebrate the fact we're engaged, tell people, enjoy it. If indeed you do still want to be engaged."

When he looked up at her again her eyes were filled with unshed tears, her head tilted to one side as she nodded ever so slightly.

"Good." He reached into his pocket and took out the ring box – old now, almost battered, he couldn't quite get the dust from the velvet exterior – but none of that seemed to really matter. "So. I get to do it now. Elspeth Hughes, there has never been, and will never be, anyone that I love as much as I love you. And I know I'm not so young anymore but there is nothing I want more than to marry you, to call you my wife, to love you until the end of my days."

She was crying openly now, smiling, wiping at her face.

"So, will you marry me?"

She was nodding before he even said the words, leaning forward to hold him, slipping down from the chair into his arms. "Yes, yes. I want that too. So very much." She kissed him, their lips damp with salty tears. "I love you so much. I always will."

He leaned back, bringing the ring box to place in her palm. "This is for you." He grinned, unable to stop it.

She found words wouldn't come; she eased the lid open on the box.

"I know it's kind of old-fashioned now, and if you don't like it I wont take offence."

"Charles, you know it's beautiful, and it means even more because I know where it came from."

"It's been in the family for four generations now, five with us." He took it from the box, "A diamond of course in the middle, and these are amethysts…meant to give the wearer sweet dreams."

She gasped, "It must be worth a fortune, I'll be scared to lose it."

"Nonsense," he tried to slide it on to her ring finger, and they both laughed as it got stuck less than a third of the way down. "My mother did have very skinny fingers." He said.

"And mine are decidedly curvier," she quipped.

"We can get it re-sized, can't we?"

"Yes. We can."

"That's sort of ruined the moment."

"No, it hasn't. It was perfect." She was half-perched on the edge of the chair, half-kneeling on his lap, and she drew her arms up and around his shoulders, stroking his neck. "I do love you Charles Carson."

"I love you too, Elspeth Hughes. Soon to be Carson." He leant forward to kiss her, then abruptly stopped. "That is, if you choose to change your name, you are under no obligation."

"Of course I will be, it never occurred to me not to. I can think of nothing nicer than being called 'Mrs Carson.'"

He smiled, overjoyed, overwhelmed, "My wife."

"Yes. And all the fun that comes with that!" She sniggered, "I'm sorry I've been snappy today, I'm not used to arguing with Anna, we never argue."

"I know."

"I'm scared I'm losing her."

"Sweetheart, she's an adult, she'll make her own choices and we just have to be there."

"She won't talk to me." She sulked. "I texted her this afternoon and she didn't reply."

"Give her time. Let's focus on us for the moment hey and just give her time."

She nodded, resting her forehead against his. "Want to get drunk and watch a movie?"

He smiled, "Sure, any leftover dinner?"

"I already plated it up for you."

He laughed, "I totally love you."

"I totally love you too."

* * *

_So, let me know what you think about Bates turning up! He had to really, didn't he...? xx_


	28. Chapter 28

_Quite a busy chapter but a lot of points needed to be set up - took me a while to write I can tell you!_

* * *

**Chapter 28**

**Family and Friends**

Tuesday and still no reply from Anna. They've gone longer without communicating but Elsie can't recall a time when she'd felt so awful about that fact.

She's aware she's not been pleasant to live with the past few days – slipping between snappy, nasty, melancholy and downright teary. She leaves Charles in the shop Tuesday morning fussing over transposing his entire order book onto her Mac; it's about time he modernised entirely but the thought of setting up a new system gives her headache.

She kisses him goodbye just as he's shouting at Excel – scaring an old man browsing in the classics section.

Shopping, and a few hours to herself, seems the best course of action so she leaves him to it and heads out into town.

* * *

Charles glances up as the bell on the door jangles at its opening and is surprised to see Anna standing there, her hair damp from the summer rain.

"Hi," she says weakly.

"Hi," he replies, slipping his glasses off. "Didn't expect to see you."

"You want me to leave?"

"No of course not, don't be silly. Come in, coffee, on the house?"

She nods, a small smile warming her face.

"Take that damp coat off too."

She does as he asks, glad of his soft nature and welcoming tone, and perches on the chair behind the counter, scanning his half-made order book. "You're modernising?"

"Your mum says it's about time." He chuckles, carrying her coffee in from the other room. "Don't tell her I've had two hot chocolates today."

"Is mum here?" She says nervously.

He stands at the opposite side of the counter, watching her blow her drink; she looks so very like Elsie in this light. "She went out. Shopping I think… Cheer herself up." He adds after a pause.

Anna swallows, leans back on the chair. "She's pissed off with me."

"I think the anger's subsided somewhat," he said diplomatically, "– but she does have cause to be, doesn't she?" He asks gently but pointedly, recalling the embarrassment of finding her semi-naked on his sofa.

"I guess so… We just got carried away. And I am sorry Charles." She shrugged, "it was hardly my proudest moment. Though I guess we're even on that front now…"

He allows himself an embarrassed smile, recalling the precise moment where Anna had walked in on he and Elsie on her couch, the very moment he'd slipped off and walloped his arm on the coffee table. "She's just upset," he finally says, "That's all, hurt. Worried maybe."

"She doesn't need to be. She thinks I'm still a kid; I haven't been one for a long time. She thinks she has to protect me."

Charles bit his lip, breathed deeply, "But we both know why that is."

Anna smiled slowly, sadly, her eyes bright. "Yes. But I'm not her."

"I know. And she knows that too. She says you're much stronger than she ever was at your age. Much brighter. She's proud of you, you do know that."

"Of course I do. And if I'm strong it's because she made me that way. But I'm not perfect."

"I don't think she expects you to be."

"Doesn't she?!"

"I think it's unfair to think she does."

"Maybe." She shrugs, "But sometimes I feel like I'm carrying her expectations; go further, do better… I'm not saying she's pushy because she isn't… just sometimes…" She groaned, momentarily covering her face. "I sound like a total bitch. I love my mum. But I'm not a child anymore and she can't try to control how I live my life, my choices are just that – mine."

Charles leant against the counter, he could see her point – Lord knows he knew what it felt like to have an overbearing parent. But he didn't see Elsie that way, and if she was it was because of the life she'd known and he couldn't blame her for that.

"Where's John?" He asked changing the subject.

"Flat hunting. Job hunting."

"He is looking after you?"

She tilted her to one side as she considered his question, the same expression Elsie sometimes fixes him with. "You do realise I can look after myself, don't you?"

He shook his head, "You're as feisty as she is. Yes, I know that. Look John is…"

"Yes?" She smirked.

He shrugged, "I don't know, he may be my brother, half-brother, but I hardly know him well. He's not a bad guy but he doesn't always make the greatest decisions."

"I know. He has told me. All about his ex-wife and the thousands of jobs he's had, his trouble with the police as a teenager, I know."

His honesty surprised him. "Just don't rush things hey, you're not a child but you are still young and you've just finished University and there's a whole world of opportunities."

She laughed, "I'm not getting married you know."

"No I am." He covered his mouth as soon as he'd said it.

Her eyes were wide, "What?"

"God. I don't believe I've just done that – she'll kill me."

"You and mum are getting married?"

He nodded, slowly, tentatively.

"Bloody hell that's great!" She exclaimed. "Did you propose on holiday?"

"No, look your mum wants to tell you, we were going to the other night…we got Champagne."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I know."

"So did you propose, in Italy?"

"No, your mum proposed, at Birmingham airport…"

Anna threw her head back and laughed, "How fantastic! Good for her!"

"She'll be upset she didn't get to tell you."

"She could have told me at any point over the past four days."

"She texted you on Sunday, you never replied so she thought…"

"I never got it," she proclaimed, searching in her coat pocket for her phone. "I swear I didn't."

"Well, she thinks you ignored her."

"What a mess." She tipped her phone over in her hand, sliding it against her palm. "You think I can still have a job?"

"Of course. I need you."

She smiled, "Thank you. Want me to help with that?" she said indicating the laptop.

"Oh lord yes."

Anna took the order book and pile of papers upstairs, setting herself up at the kitchen table to work.

* * *

Around 3p.m. Elsie left the coffee shop she'd been reading in (it felt odd to be finding a new reading spot, but perhaps even more so to go back to reading in Charles' shop). Dashing through the rain she headed for the jewellers they'd visited first thing Monday morning, hoping the ring would be done in preparation for tonight – she couldn't wait to show it off to Beryl. They'd paid a fortune to have it prioritised.

Once she'd finished in town she walked home, the downpour having slowed to a slight drizzle and she found it didn't bother her. There were a few people browsing the shop and it was rather nice to walk in through the main entrance just as she used to, Charles looking up from the counter to smile at her.

"Hello," he mouthed, putting down his pen.

"Hi," she set her bags down at the side of the counter and leant across to kiss him. "So, I got it." She said, placing her handbag on the top and reaching inside for a small box.

"Did you try it? Why aren't you wearing it?"

"I thought it more appropriate to be given it again."

He smiled, snapping open the box and taking out the ring. "Now sweetheart, let's see if this fits then shall we."

"I bloody hope so, the price they charged."

She held her hand out to him, doing her best to keep her fingers still, and he slowly slid it onto her ring finger. She proudly wiggled it in mid-air.

"Beautiful." She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him again.

"I was thinking the same thing," he said, touching her face.

They were interrupted by a polite cough behind them and Elsie smirked as she moved aside, collecting up her shopping bags and allowing the young man to hand his purchases to Charles.

"I'll be upstairs, don't forget we're leaving around six-thirtyish for Beryl's."

"Not forgotten."

She trudged up the stairs, humming and flashing her ring at herself, it felt rather nice to be wearing it now, for there to be a very visual representation of their commitment to one another.

Leaving the majority of her bags in the hall she made her way into the kitchen carrying the two containing items from the deli Charles liked – salads, cheese, freshly baked bread.

She gasped when she found Anna sitting at the table.

"Goodness, you scared me."

"Hi mum, don't worry I'm almost done." She didn't take her eyes from the computer screen.

Elsie set about putting away her buys.

"You're helping Charles with his order book?"

"Yep. Pretty much got it all set up on here now, he should get reminders when he logs in everyday, I might send them to his phone too. Think that'd bother him?"

"I think he'd be grateful." She flicked the kettle on. "You want some tea?"

"I'm fine. I've been here hours, I need to get my stuff together from the spare room."

Elsie closed her eyes momentarily, a sharp pain in her chest. She turned around to face her daughter, leaning back against the counter. "You're not staying?"

Anna switched the computer off and shook her head, "No. I'm not."

"And where will you go?"

She glanced up at Elsie, steely blue eyes holding her gaze; "I'm not doing anything ridiculous like moving in with John, if that's what you think. I'm going to stay with a friend."

"Which friend?"

"Mum…"

"I just wondered if I knew them."

"You do. It's Edith – remember, from school?"

Elsie swallowed, relieved. "I do remember."

"Well, she's got a good job now at the local paper and she's bought her own house and she needs a housemate." She shrugged, "And I'm it."

"You can stay here for free you know."

"I do know that mum but it's not what I want… Look you and Charles want to be alone and I need my space. Its weird coming back from years and years at Uni to then live with your parents again… I'm an adult mum, you do know that, right?"

Elsie smiled, nodding, "Yes. I do know that." She wonders if Anna realises her slip with 'parents'. "But you will ask, if you need help?"

"Sure. Nice ring by the way." She smiles mischievously.

Elsie gasped, covering it. "Oh! That wasn't how I wanted to tell you."

"Well, now I know, and I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you sweetheart."

"Do you think maybe we should hug?"

Biting her bottom lip and resisting the urge to cry she gratefully moved forward as Anna stood and they embraced.

"I'm really, _really_ pleased for you both. You're going to be _so_ happy."

"I'm already 'so' happy." She said, tucking Anna's hair behind her ear. "Happier than I've ever been."

"I can tell. I do get to be a bridesmaid right?"

"But of course. I'm going to make you wear a huge taffeta gown."

"I look awful in taffeta."

"I know, but can't have you overshadowing me now, can I?"

"I guess not." Anna mirrored her mother, biting her own lip in nerves, "I am sorry about the other night, it was pretty embarrassing."

Elsie did her best to appear neutral; she didn't want to argue again. "I take it you're still seeing him."

"I am. And it's going well. And I know you're not happy about that but give me the benefit of the doubt, I'm not stupid, I don't date idiots mum."

She sighed heavily; she couldn't deny that, she was much smarter at picking men than Elsie had been at her age.

"Maybe it's best if I just register my concerns and say no more about it. I don't want to argue with you."

"I know…"

"Especially when we have an engagement party to plan."

"Ooh yes, let's make it wild."

"I thought it would be nice to do a crossover with Charles' Birthday."

"Yep, okay, that'll be fun. What've you got him?"

Elsie set about pouring tea for the both of them, "A digital radio so he can stop fiddling with the tuning button. And I actually found a painting in Venice that I thought he'd love so I ordered that to be posted over, I'm praying it arrives, otherwise I've wasted money I can't afford to waste."

Anna accepted the tea, "Is the house gonna cripple you?"

"It's certainly not going to be easy. But don't tell Charles that, he's so overjoyed."

"Well, he would be. He totally adores you and you proposed in the most romantic place on earth!" She teased, hiding her smirk behind her cup.

"Ah, he told you!" Elsie exclaimed, slapping Anna's arm. "I can't believe he did that."

"He got carried away."

"I'm not surprised, he's been fit to burst since it happened, I think he would have announced it over the tannoy at the airport if I'd let him."

"Aw that's so sweet. Why the bloody airport though mother?"

Elsie shrugged, sipping her tea, "I don't know, it just kinda happened. I was being spontaneous."

"That's _so_ not like you."

"I know. I usually analyse things to death first."

"Let me have a look at this properly then," Anna said taking hold of her mum's hand. "So gorgeous. I'm very jealous."

"Now don't go thinking of getting married."

"Not for years!"

"I'd invite you to stay for dinner but we're going to Beryl and Bill's."

"John's taking me out anyway." She looked away at her mum's expression, if this thing with John was going to last it was going to take some getting used to for her mother. "But thanks."

Elsie rolled her eyes and reached across to touch her daughter's hand, "You can come over any time, you know that don't you."

"Yes. Charles pretty much said the same thing. He's a sweetheart."

At this Elsie smiled, "Yes – he is rather wonderful."

* * *

Later, when Anna was gone and the shop closing up, Elsie made her way downstairs with damp hair and a make-up free face.

"Hi," he said, glancing over his glasses at her. "You alright?"

"I am. Just had a shower, thought I'd come and see my favourite man."

"Oh yes," he said, focussing on the register again, "Is he around?"

"Somewhere." She moved behind him, sliding her hands around his waist and resting her cheek against his back. "Are we customer free?"

"Let's hope so hey, otherwise I'm going to struggle to serve them."

She smiled, rubbing her hands across his stomach and up his chest, absorbing his warmth and scent through the jumper he wore. "What are you doing?"

"Cashing up. Counting my money."

"Mmm. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…"

He smiled, reaching down to momentarily rub her hand. "Just how long do we have?"

"I said we'd be there before seven."

"Delicious smell coming from the flat."

"I made my famous brownie for dessert."

"Excellent." He tapped a few buttons on the screen. "There. I think I'm done." He turned around, her arms shifting slightly to circle him, "Now then, what's this about your favourite man?" He said, taking his glasses off. "Perhaps you should remind him how much you like him?"

Smirking she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, sinking into the kiss, into his welcoming arms. She felt his body come alive at her touch, pressing back, his hands shifting down her spine to cup her bottom. Giggling she pulled back, "Now don't start that. We don't have time for it."

"I can be quick." He said, pressing her into him, lifting her slightly off her feet.

"I'm sure you can but I wouldn't appreciate it." She laughed. "Later." She said, pressing her finger to his lips.

"Who would have thought?" he said, "That I'd be snogging you in my shop."

"Snogging?!"

"Absolutely. The librarian done good."

"Hmm," she slid her hand up his chest, resting it on his arm and tapping her ring finger, "I don't think I've done badly myself. You know Beryl may scream when we tell her."

"Good. I may scream with her."

She kissed him again, tapping his shoulders lightly. "Let's get ready then."

* * *

An hour later the taxi dropped them off at the Mason's sprawling old house.

"This is huge. You never told me they were rich."

"They aren't. It's been in the family for years and years. It's filled with children now."

She watched his face change, "Will these 'children' be joining us?"

"One or two usually drops in." she moved around the car to grasp his arm, smiling kindly, "You'll be fine. You're good with kids."

"I'm not good with humans full stop, let alone mini ones."

She was giggling as they approached the front door, "You're good with me. You're good with Anna."

"Hmm," he reached forward to press the doorbell.

"We'll go round the back," she said, tugging on his arm, "they never use the front door."

"Is everything okay with Anna now?" He asked gently.

"Okay seems an exaggeration – but we're talking… and she's very happy about our engagement."

"You've sorted things out?"

"I think I've silently agreed to keep my mouth shut – until it goes wrong and then I can do the whole, 'I told you so' thing."

He chuckled, "Oh ye of little faith."

"We'll see."

"Aunty Elsie," a young voice said from the garden and she turned, spotting Daisy on a swing reading.

"Hello honey, what're you doing there?"

Daisy jumped down from the swing, "Waiting until he's gone to bed," she said, pointing into the house with her magazine.

"Who's he?" Elsie asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Will-i-am." Daisy pouted, folding her arms. "He's a right dumbo, mooning around all the time, going on about love and spirits."

Charles frowned, "How old is this boy?"

Daisy took a step back, as if seeing Charles for the first time, she looked up at his tall, imposing figure, squinting at him.

"Daisy, this is Charles Carson," Elsie said grasping his arm. "Charles this is Daisy."

"Glad to meet you." He said sticking out his hand.

Daisy's tiny fingers seemed to disappear inside his giant paw. "He's seventeen." She finally said, "like me."

"How long's he been here?" Elsie whispered.

"Two weeks or so, start of the summer, his mother died and he flipped out so he's staying with us until he flips back in. I don't like it when they just come for a month or something, it's not like real foster kids."

Elsie patted her arm, "I'm sure it'll be fine, try to be gentle with him – he has just lost his mother. Are you eating with us?"

"No, we had pizza earlier, we've been told to keep out and shut up!"

Elsie chuckled as she made her way inside whilst Charles wondered what he was walking into.

* * *

"You're very tall." A tiny girl said, standing on the sofa beside where Charles sat. "Very, _very_ tall."

"Thank you." Charles said gruffly, sitting perfectly still as the girl began to bounce up and down on the cushion next to his.

When Elsie came in carrying a tray of drinks she couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Charles' stoic face and the bouncing girl.

"Laurel!" Beryl snapped, "How many times, on the trampoline not the sofa. You're bothering Mr Carson."

"It's fine." Charles said.

"Oh come here munchkin," Elsie teased, reaching for the five-year-old, gripping her about the waist as she swung her. The girl giggled uncontrollably, her pigtails swinging about her.

"If she pukes you're cleaning it." Beryl warned and Elsie slowed her swings, resting her hand beneath the girl's bottom and holding her tight.

"So, have you missed me then?" Elsie asked, pinching Laurel's nose.

"Yep."

"Want to do something fun this summer, now we're out of school?"

"Yep."

"How about – the park?"

Laurel shook her head and Charles watched closely, both amused and fascinated by the interaction.

"How about – the zoo?"

"Nope."

"How about…hmm…the seaside?"

"Yay!" She hugged Elsie's neck. "Can we go now?"

"Ooh it maybe better in the daylight so we can see the sand."

"Tomorrow?"

"Next week maybe. Let's ask – Beryl, when are you going to France?"

"We aren't, can't afford it," she was fussing laying mats out on the table. "Bill's got to work."

"That's good for us then," Elsie whispered to Laurel. "Think I might take this one off your hands for the day then, next week, if the weather's good."

"Take them all." Beryl laughed, coming to kiss Laurel. "Time for bed for you, want me to take you?"

Laurel shook her head and pointed at Elsie.

"Ha! I'm the favourite." She blobbed her tongue out at Beryl.

"Yes, yes, go hurry up, I'm serving now."

"Don't let Bill have all the gravy. Say night to Mr Carson sweetheart."

"Night, night Mr Caaar. Son." The little girl said, waving and snuggling into Elsie.

Elsie smiled over her head at him, "Won't be long." She mouthed before disappearing into the hallway and up the stairs.

Charles felt a little awkward sitting there on the sofa waiting, he tapped his fingers on his knees and got up, standing by the open patio doors and digging his hands into his pockets. Outside he could see Daisy swinging back and forth and a tall boy – William he assumed – sitting on the grass in front of her talking.

"Here we go," Bill said coming in, "my finest cider. Give it a go." He handed Charles a glass, "won't find any better."

Charles took a steady sip, expecting the worst but actually finding it wasn't too bad. "Nice. You made this with your own apples?"

"Aye. From the trees out back."

"How wonderful. I've never even looked at the trees we have at the new place, will have to check it out."

"We get bucket loads of apples, Elsie usually takes some for pies."

Charles perked up at that idea, "Crumbles too." He smiled, imagining Sunday lunch followed by a large helping of apple crumble and custard.

"Sit down then," Beryl bustled, carrying in a huge pie dish and depositing it in the middle of the table before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Charles did as he was told, sitting near the open doors for the cool evening air. The pie was the biggest he'd ever laid eyes on, and gravy was oozing from around the edges and down the side of the dish. It wasn't exactly lovingly presented, but then perhaps it reflected the lifestyle of the cook – from the sight of the slightly messy house and frantic atmosphere.

"All done," Elsie said breezily, rolling up her cardigan sleeves as she took the seat next to Charles. "Fast asleep."

"You've got the magic touch with that kid." Bill observed, pouring her a large glass of cider.

"I'm just a natural." She said smugly, taking a sip of her drink. "Are we tackling this?" She asked, getting up again and reaching for a serving spoon. She felt Charles touch her elbow, "It's okay," she said gently, noting his expression. "No standing on ceremony here."

She cut into the pie and Bill handed her his plate. "Large piece please Elsie love."

"Of course."

"Right, here we go." Beryl finally emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of mushy peas in one hand, a jug of gravy in the other, and kicked the door shut behind her with her foot. "Let's eat and forget about kids falling out." She took a seat. "Help yourself Charles."

"Thanks."

Elsie took his plate, serving his pie and then adding just the right amount of gravy and peas. He looked nervous and she felt for him; the fast-paced laid-back atmosphere of the Mason household was very different to her own childhood and family life so god knows how alien it was to him.

After serving herself she sat down and lifted her glass up, being sure to keep her ring on display. "So, a toast…" She said, and Bill put his fork down, quickly chewing what was in his mouth. "To rings…" she said, tapping it against her glass and then Beryl looked up, screamed and jumped out of her chair, yanking Elsie into a fierce hug.

"I knew he'd bloody well do it!"

"Congratulations mate," Bill slapped Charles' shoulder whilst shaking his hand, "She's a fine lass."

"Thank you."

"How did he do it?" Beryl quizzed, "You old sneak," she pointed at Charles, "Liking it enough to put a ring on it."

He stared confused as the two of them giggled at her statement.

"Actually, it was me." Elsie admitted, shrugging, "I proposed... at the airport."

"What the hell!" Beryl roared with laughter. "Putting him out of his misery at long last."

"Oh don't!" Elsie slapped her arm, "Sit down and eat your dinner."

"Where's your fancy ring Charles?" Bill chuckled.

"I've been wondering that myself."

"You get something better," she said leaning towards him, "…me."

He chuckled, "Very true." He smiled, kissing her.

"Now we don't need that when we're eating," Beryl said. "What do you make of the pie?"

"You know what," he swallowed, wiping his mouth on his napkin, "It's the bet steak pie I've ever had. And believe me, I've had a few in my lifetime."

Elsie reached beneath the table and squeezed his leg; she already knew he'd love it; Beryl was the best cook she'd ever come across.

Later, _much_ later, an abandoned game of cards sat upon the table and Bill and Elsie were both lying on the floor with straws in their mouths trying not to laugh.

"This is a highly skilled game I can see," Charles laughed, his eyes felt like they were crossing over he'd drunk so much and somehow finding out who could blow their Maltesers the highest had become of the upmost priority.

Elsie took the straw from her mouth, "I'm going to win this." She proclaimed.

"Are you trying to say you're a good blower," Beryl teased, handing them both a Malteser.

"Now don't be vulgar." Elsie glared; if she didn't get up off the floor soon she swore she was going to be sick and she was very glad she'd worn trousers for the night.

"Let's go, come on," Bill mumbled around his straw, "My back can't take floors anymore."

Charles fell back on the sofa laughing, his stomach hurt from laughing, it seemed that since dinner it was all they'd done.

"If Bill wins we get your engagement ring, we're going to pawn it and retire."

"Bugger off!" Elsie laughed. "If I win I get Laurel."

"Have her. Little madam when she wants to be and no more lazy Sundays in bed for you. Right, are you ready? Are you steady? Go!"

There was nothing but a fit of laughter as they both tried, and failed, to keep their Maltesers in the air for longer than thirty seconds. The entire 'game' dissolved into hysterics.

"Shush," Elsie said, pushing herself up from the floor. "We'll wake the children. In fact we better get calling a taxi, look at the time."

"Quarter to twelve, do you revert to a pumpkin Prince Charming on the stroke of midnight?" Beryl teased standing in front of where Charles sat on the sofa.

"Not that I know of, but I'm so stuffed I'm worried my belt may burst and cause an injury. Wonderful night thank you, both of you." He said, rubbing tears of laughter from his face.

"Oh, you lovely man." Beryl pulled his head against her chest as she hugged him, "Thank you for looking after her."

He looked helplessly at Elsie.

"She's always emotional when she's drunk," Bill explained, getting to his knees. "I'll call a taxi," he groaned, "once I manage to get to my feet."

* * *

"I understand why you love them," Charles said as they walked along the back alley to the shop, swinging their entwined hands, the weight of her engagement ring pressed against his palm.

"You couldn't find kinder, more down-to-earth people," she agreed, searching in her bag for the door key. "And they've always been there for me, despite always having to be there for all those children."

"How long have they had Laurel?"

"Erm, maybe coming up to two years." She let them in through the back door of the shop. "She's such a sweetheart, I keep waiting for her to remember her past."

"Bad?"

"Terrible. Her mother was on drugs, probably a prostitute, all kinds in and out of the home, who knew what she saw, what happened to her. And she's just a baby."

"She is." She started to climb the stairs, stopping when she felt his hand on her back.

"Can I join you at the seaside?"

Smiling she turned to face him, "I was hoping you'd say that." She leant forward resting her hands on his shoulders, "So, as we're drunk, wanna go fool around?"

"Oh, absolutely."

* * *

**Wednesday night**

Charles twisted onto his side on the sofa as Elsie came into the room, making room for her beside him, he lifted the blanket and she sat down, lifting her legs up next to his.

"Sure there's enough room on here for the two of us?" She asked, wiggling beside him.

"Absolutely. Nothing like cuddling whilst pretending to watch a film."

"I _am_ going to watch the film."

"What are we having to eat?"

"You're hungry now? Ten minute before it starts?"

"Sorry. Wasn't hungry earlier."

She sighed, "What do you want?"

"You know what I really, _really_ fancy – besides you?"

"Go on…"

"Cheese on toast and a mug of tea."

"Oh, now you've got me hungry too." She dropped her legs over the side of the sofa again, "I'll go."

"I can do it."

"No, no. You've been working all day; I've been lazing about in the sunshine reading in the park. As you lovingly reminded me."

She dashed off to the kitchen, boiled the kettle, made tea and returned with a plate of cheese on toast and two mugs.

"Just in time," he said, perching himself up on the sofa and making room for her. They sat with the plate between them and Charles turned the lamp down ready for the film.

"You're sure this won't be scary?" She asked as it started. "I don't like scary films."

"With a silly name like 'Prometheus', never!" he assured her.

Two hours later she was snuggled up against him, the blanket pulled just so that she could cover her face if need be. Charles' arm was slung across her and she could hear him snoring by her ear.

As the final scene played out she squeezed her eyes shut, peeping as the squid-like alien jumped out of the being's stomach and writhed around on the floor. Charles jerked against her and she screamed.

"What?!" He yelled, trying to sit up.

"You," she slapped his arm, "you bloody well scared me."

"Is it done?" He asked rubbing his eyes.

"It is, you missed over an hour of it. I'm never going to the cinema with you."

He flopped back onto the couch, "Sorry love, long day."

"Hmm," she switched off the television before staring round at him, his eyes were closed, "I'm going to bed."

"Don't yet, come snuggle against me." He held his arms open and she did as he asked.

"You should go to bed too," she said gently, burying her face against his chest.

"I will." He yawned, "We will. We'll just have a minute." He kissed her head, breathed in the scent of her hair.

The next morning they woke up with aching limbs and tight muscles from spending the night in that position.

* * *

**Thursday night**

"Charles was saying how much work you're going to have done." Isobel said, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching as Elsie cooked.

Elsie smiled, searching in the fridge for cream, "The work _he_ wants to have done. He has these grand plans, I'm not sure we'll be able to have it all done at once, I think we'll be better waiting and saving but he's convinced we should do it all in one great swoop."

"You should be able to afford it though, now he's sold his houses to pay for it."

Elsie paused, swallowed, glad her face was obscured by the fridge door. "Oh, he told you about that?" She finally said.

"Yes. On Sunday in church. He took me to see the house too, it's lovely, wonderful views."

Elsie all but slammed the fridge door shut, turned to face Isobel and smiled sweetly, "I'm glad you liked it."

"It's very nice, a far cry from this flat. Where did you used to live?"

"Erm, I was renting an apartment just outside of town," she set about chopping herbs, her back to Isobel.

"Didn't you have a house, before that?"

"I used to," she reached for her wine glass and took a gulp.

"From your first marriage?"

"Yes. How long have you and Richard been in your home?"

"Oh, a long time, most of our married life. How old were you when you moved down from Scotland?"

Elsie was beginning to feel like she was on an episode of 'This is Your Life'. "Almost twenty."

"Oh, you were young. I didn't realise that. Charles mentioned you didn't get on with your father."

Elsie almost sliced her finger off.

"My father was a bit too controlling, wasn't at all happy with my choice of Richard as a husband." Isobel continued.

Elsie turned, carrying the chopping board to the sink, "Well, at least he left you well provided for."

"I do have to thank him for that. Richard would never have been able to set up his own practice had it not been for it."

Richard came in carrying two empty glasses and a bottle.

"What's going on in here? I hope you're not grilling Elsie darling."

"Of course not. Have you drunk that already?"

"One bottle between four glasses doesn't go too far."

"There's more in the fridge," Elsie said, opening the oven and removing the casserole dish.

"Here love," Richard handed it to Isobel, kissing her nose, "Go take it back to Charles."

Richard watched as Elsie stirred the casserole and put the lid back on the dish, "Here let me." He said, reaching to take the oven gloves and lift it back in.

"Thank you."

"She doesn't mean to be…" he smiled at Elsie's wide-eyed expression, "She doesn't mean to be nosey. I know that's how she may come across that way, she just cares about him."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "And I don't."

"We both know you do, she knows you do. But he's been on his own for most of his life, we've always been his family, not just his friends. Izzy's not quite used to not being the main woman in his life. Every girlfriend he's had has come and gone – we'd given up hope he'd ever get married. And now you… she's being overly-protective, I know that. And I know she can come across rude, she doesn't mean to. Really."

"I'll try to remember that," Elsie said, returning to fixing dinner.

* * *

Charles was kissing the back of Elsie's neck as he untied her apron, "Smells good," he whispered.

"Don't do that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not in the mood." She said lowly.

"Why ever not?" He asked gently, rubbing her upper arms.

"We can't talk about it now," she shrugged him off, "Let's just play the game hey."

"What game?" he asked, confused, but she thrust bowls of greens and carrots into his hand.

"Take those in." she instructed.

"And look at you, all in your Tory blue." Isobel smiled as Elsie followed Charles into the dining room and set the casserole dish down in the centre of the table.

Elsie glared, "Oh goodness no." She said, taking her seat besides Charles.

"Elsie voted Labour." Charles said, beginning to serve.

"Did you really?" Isobel replied, a look of astonishment upon her face.

"You don't have to say it with such surprise."

"No I didn't mean… I didn't realise we had Labour voters left in Harrogate." She held her plate up for Charles.

"Oh I think there's probably a fair few teachers out there who still voted red."

"Really? Why?"

Elsie bit her tongue, curled one ankle behind the other beneath the table to rein herself in. "Because we've had a hell of a time of it under Tory rule and now we have another five years to look forward to."

"Haven't they tidied up the slack systems that Blair left behind?"

"Haven't they increased University fees from around £3000 a year to £9000 a year – meaning only the rich get to have a shot at an education. Heaven forbid a working class child dream of a better life."

"Maybe politics isn't the best topic for the dinner table," Richard quickly interrupted, and Elsie was sure she saw him nudge Isobel's arm.

"Yes of course." Isobel said brightly. "Let's talk about your wedding."

"Oh good, a topic I am enthusiastic about." Charles said, beginning to eat. "This is delicious darling," he said, patting Elsie's hand on the table.

"When are you planning to marry?" Richard asked.

"Oh, not until next year I would think." Elsie said, spreading her napkin in her lap. "The priority is the house, I'd love to be in there by Christmas but we'll see. These things drag on."

"And where will you have the wedding?" Isobel asked.

"We want to marry in church," Elsie said, feeling Charles turn to smile at her. "In Charles' church. Despite his dreams of somewhere much bigger." She teased.

"Ha ha." He reached for his wine. "Very funny."

"That'll be lovely," Isobel smiled, "It's such a beautiful church. I hope you'll let us help plan it."

"I'm sure they have their own ideas darling."

"We haven't even discussed it really," Charles said, "still getting used to be an engaged man."

"We do want to have a party though," Elsie said, helping herself to vegetables. "Maybe in the next couple of weeks, I'd like to make it a joint thing with Charles' birthday."

"Oh that will be nice," Isobel chirped, "We usually host Charles' birthday."

"Oh, do you?"

"Yes, but we are more than happy to make it an engagement party."

"Well, I was thinking… I would organise it." She watched Isobel's face fall, "I mean, I have free time now it being the summer holidays and I'd rather like to." She turned to Charles to gauge his reaction and he smiled at her.

"We can work something out between us all I'm sure," he said non-committedly.

Elsie found herself quietening ever more as the evening wore on. She hid in the kitchen doing the dishes and preparing dessert, until Richard dragged her in to join the foursome at Bridge.

"I don't really know the rules," she protested as she sat down.

"We'll teach you, it's straightforward." Charles assured her.

"You enjoyed Italy?" Richard asked her.

"Very much so, the villa was beautiful."

"We have such wonderful memories of the place," Isobel said, sipping her coffee. "We've been going there since we what… twenty?"

"Must be." Charles said, setting down his cards. "All those years. Anyone fancy a sherry?"

"A large one," Elsie quipped.

By ten-thirty the couple were leaving and Elsie followed the three downstairs, watching as they said their goodbyes and waving from her position on the stairs.

Once Charles had closed the door and their footsteps died away she sank back against the wall and groaned loudly.

"What?" He asked.

"That was awful. Truly_, truly_ awful!" She moaned, turning to make her way back upstairs.

"Hey don't say that, why?" he followed her up – upset, confused, his heartbeat beginning to increase.

"Why? You have to ask." She made her way into the dining room, collecting up the used glasses. "Because I was made to feel like a bloody inconvenience."

"You were not. How?"

"How?" She stomped past him, slamming the glasses down on the side in the kitchen. "Quizzed over my life choices, I thought I was taking part in twenty bloody questions."

"She's just interested."

"Interested. I felt like I'm some gold digger, commenting on the value of 'Violet's ring', and then asking me about the price of our house – what the hell were you thinking anyhow?"

"About what?"

"Telling her you'll sold your houses to pay for our new home, taking her there on Sunday, why would you do that, without telling me? Why would you tell her about our finances?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he shrugged, feeling at a loss to explain her sudden bad mood.

"Because that's our business Charles," she slammed her hand on the counter. "It's nothing to do with them."

"I think you're being unfair." He said gently, attempting to pacify her.

"Am I?" She paused, biting down hard on her bottom lip. "Well, I'm going to bed. You tidy up – they're clearly your friends."

* * *

_Sorry for making you wait a few days for that, hope you're still invested in where they're going and how they get there :-) xx_


	29. Chapter 29

_There are two Shirley Bassey songs used here from her 'The Performance' album - The Apartment and This Time, should you want to enjoy them along with Elsie!_

* * *

**Chapter 29**

They were woken by Charles' alarm; Elsie was lying on her side and Charles pressed up against her back, his arm over her waist. She groaned at the insistent beeping and he rolled onto his back, reached behind him and pressed the off button.

Elsie snuggled back into her pillow, lifting the duvet up around her face in a joint bid to ignore him and return to sleep.

For a few moments he remained where he was, waking slowly, and then he leant over her, kissing the bit of her face he could see. "Morning." He whispered.

She ignored him. If she spoke, she'd argue. The fitful night's sleep had done little to alleviate her bad mood, in fact if anything it had strengthened it and she didn't want to wake just to argue.

After a while he sighed heavily, got out of bed and she listened to the running of the shower, letting it lull her back to sleep.

It felt eerily quiet in the flat being up and around without her – as he sat alone in the kitchen sipping his tea and eating his toast he was reminded of days gone by, days of being a bachelor where his diary would be full but his heart very much empty.

Every where he looked now there were touches of her; from the expected bulging of his wardrobe and the lines of shoes in the cupboard in the hall, to the fact that everywhere smelt so much better. He wasn't quite sure how she did it, something to do with what she cleaned with, the softener she put in the washing machine that made the towels smell like springtime, the fact that they had candles standing around – he never knew people bought candles just for the look and smell, to him they were practical for if the power went off, at a push romantic as a seduction technique.

She was still sleeping as he went down to work and he couldn't escape the feeling he'd done something terribly wrong.

* * *

Arranging to meet Beryl for afternoon tea at a posh hotel Elsie spent the morning cleaning the flat before changing, curling her hair and putting on fancy heels.

Charles was restocking shelves as she came in through the shop, "You're going out?" He asked, it was the first time he'd seen her all day.

"I am."

"Somewhere nice? You look nice."

"Thank you."

"So you're going…?" He asked tentatively, somewhat nervous.

"Out. To meet Beryl for afternoon tea. So I won't be cooking."

"I don't expect you to." He said gently. "Have fun."

"Thank you. See you later."

She didn't kiss him goodbye.

* * *

"I felt like a guest in my own home." Elsie said, watching Beryl spread jam over her scone. "Like she was lady of the house."

"I guess she kinda has been," she bit into her scone. "He's not had a proper girlfriend has he?" She asked, spluttering crumbs everywhere.

Elsie shook her head and handed her a napkin, "No, not really."

"Bit weird," Beryl frowned, "Like a sexless ménage et trois."

"Oh god, don't say that, it isn't like that! I understand their friendship, I understand how close they are, it just…" she fiddled with her tea spoon, "it just hurt somewhat, to hear her say he'd told her all about our finances, asked for her advice, taken her to the house –,"

"On their own!"

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Yes. I don't like to think he's discussing things with her that should only be discussed with me. That he might tell her things about our relationship that are only for the two of us to discuss. Which is sort of ironic given that I am discussing our relationship with you!" She smiled. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me about the kids, who's this William?"

"Lovely lad, bit too fond of our Daisy I suspect but I'm not sure he'll be with us long. There's an aunt he might go and stay with."

"No sign of his father?"

"Died when he was young. Poor kid's an orphan, but I mean he's not far off being a legal adult, and he seems pretty grounded. He may be able to move back into his home, to keep it at least."

"That's good. I really don't know how you balance all of this, how you stay on top of it."

"I often feel ignorance is bliss." She laughed, refilling Elsie's tea. "You know we should have wine, you look like you need a pick-me-up. You aren't getting cold feet are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean, you still want to marry him?"

"Yes of course. This isn't about my feelings for him or my commitment – it's about me feeling bloody awkward about that woman and angry; I'm angry at Charles for revealing things to her that should just be between us. And I'm not sure he realises he's done anything wrong." She sighed, playing with the butter knife. "How do you do it – marriage? You and Bill have been together forever."

"You've been married before…"

She rolled her eyes, "That hardly counts. Thirty years of living a false life, pretending I'm someone I'm not, abiding by someone else's rules. Now I finally get to be me, and I'm enjoying that, I'm enjoying having the freedom to be silly and flirtatious and spontaneous. Not a regimented life. And I worry that maybe the more I loosen up the less Charles likes of me."

"That's your own insecurities sweetheart, not him. He adores you, anyone can see that…" Beryl took a cake from the display between them, "Want to share this?"

"Yes. Let's."

"It just takes patience. Trust. And being open."

"I'm trying to be. And I do trust him, more than anyone, I did… but after last night I spent the evening tossing and turning worrying how much he'd shared with Isobel. I don't like the idea of battling with another woman for my fiancé's attention."

"Then be honest, tell him that."

"I thought I did. It's difficult… not difficult, just, I tread carefully, sometimes I forget he's almost 58 and he's spent the majority of his life living as a bachelor – that's a hell of a long time to live on your own, making your own choices, doing your own thing when you want. On some things he can be stuck in his ways," she shrugged, "he likes things just 'so', organised, and I don't blame him for that, I don't resent it, its part of who he is just as my spontaneity is part of me. But I think that both of us forget sometimes that it's not just going to _work_, we have to work at it."

"I think most couples have to solve that problem," Beryl said, her cake ignored for the moment as Elsie opened up to her. It's not often she bears her soul and so Beryl knows when to quiet and listen, when to contribute her own views. "Maybe it's harder because you are older and starting this, because he's not used to being part of a couple. But your maturity also means you don't have the fuss and franticness of 'young love'. Lust and jealousy and constant arguments. For one thing we don't have the energy for it."

"Or the time," Elsie laughed. "And I resent your lust comment! We very much have that thank you very much."

Beryl giggled naughtily, "I know, I just wanted to get you to reveal some juicy gossip."

"Hmm," she reached for her cake. "Unfortunately life can't be all romantic holidays and lazing in the sun."

"Unfortunately."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Ooh but just imagine if it was. Me and Bradley Cooper just enjoying ourselves – naked from dusk til dawn."

"Beryl!" They both sniggered, covering their mouths to avoid drawing attention to their selves.

"Eat your cake."

"Yes Ms Hughes… soon to be Mrs Carson, how odd will that be?"

"You know, I'm rather looking forward to it. You want to do something naughty after tea?"

"Such as?"

"I'm planning our engagement party, I want it to coincide with Charles' birthday."

"Nice idea."

"Yes. And I want to look fabulous for it."

"But of course you do, so we're going shopping?"

"If you can spare the time."

Beryl nodded, "Don't worry, we'll find you something truly sexy and jaw-dropping."

"Don't forget Charles' friends will be there, his cricket lot! And my work colleagues."

"Even more of a reason to show them how god damn lucky he is!"

* * *

Charles was on the sofa when she got in, watching snooker and eating a bag of chips. Elsie rolled her eyes when she spotted his choice of dinner.

"Hi," he said, looking up at her. "Good time?"

"Yes. Thank you. You?"

He shrugged, "Felt like being a bachelor again – work, then chips and T.V."

"Lucky you."

"I was thinking unlucky me." He put his chips on the coffee table. "So, will you talk to me now?"

"About?"

"What's upset you? You stomped off to bed last night, you've avoided me all day."

"I would have thought it was obvious, I hardly hid it."

He sighed, "Isobel. I know she can be…"

"Pushy? Nosey? Judgemental?"

"Elsie… she's my friend. My oldest friend."

"And I'm meant to be becoming your wife. You need to get your priorities straight on which one is more important Charles."

She picked up letters from the side table, skimming through them and tearing one open.

"I'm not sure I like the tone," he said, "you're hinting I don't put you first. Which I don't really think is fair… what are you reading?"

"Letter from the solicitor, the first search from the house is back. All is clear, which is good news."

"If you still want to live with me."

"Don't be childish."

"Fair question I feel – under the circumstances."

"Do _you_ still want to live with me?"

"As opposed to what – living with Isobel?"

"Oh don't do that, mocking my worries, making light of it."

"I'm not, though I do think it's laughable." He knows it's the wrong thing to say as soon as the words have left his mouth and he desperately tries to claw it back. "I mean, we're just friends, she's married to my best friend."

"You said _she_ was your best friend."

"_They_ are."

"Not me?"

"Don't play that game."

"I'm going to bed Charles. This is ridiculous, this conversation is laughable."

"Yes because you're being irrational."

"How – because I'm upset over being side-lined by an ex-lover?" She marched into their bedroom, then into the en-suite, Charles following her.

"It was a lifetime ago. There's no cause to be jealous."

"Oh, I'm not jealous. I'm angry, I'm hurt. For god's sake, you've been so patient with me for months and months and now I'm finally here saying yes I want it, all of it, let's get married, where the hell are you? Hiding under bloody Isobel's bloody skirts!"

"You know I want this, you." He shook his head, irritated and frustrated, "It's ridiculous to think otherwise."

"Maybe it's the wrong choice," she muttered, filling the sink.

Charles couldn't hear her over the sound of the water and the fact her back was to him, "What did you say? Els stop mumbling to yourself, you got something to say then say it."

"I said maybe you're marrying the wrong fucking woman!" She roared, swishing round to face him.

"That's preposterous."

"Is it?"

"I can't do this, I can't have this conversation with you when you're in this mood."

"If I'm in a mood it's because I have no other option. Because you've made my position untenable."

"I'm going out. Going for a bike ride."

"It's 7:30 at night!"

"Then it'll be quiet."

* * *

She's asleep when he gets home – feeling chilled and a little bit tipsy after ending up in a nearby pub and nursing one too many whiskies.

He undresses in the lounge, careful not to wake her as he creeps into their bedroom and slips in beside her. Their bed is warm and soft and he relaxes instantly, closing his eyes, sinking back into the pillow.

Beside him she turns, murmuring in her sleep, and pressing against him. Holding him. And he wonders how communication can be so bloody difficult when they have such natural affection for the other.

He curls his arms around her and drifts to sleep, contemplating how on earth he's going to pacify concerns he doesn't fully understand.

* * *

The next morning he wakes once again to the sound of his alarm and once again they've fallen into the same position – Elsie on her side, Charles behind her, his arm over her waist.

He switches the alarm off, reluctant to relinquish his comfortable position by her side. Her bottom is pressed against his groin and he can feel the beginnings of an erection; the thought of making love to her swims through his brain making him dizzy and he wants this awkwardness gone so he can just touch her, kiss her, and show her once more exactly how much he cares.

Frustrated, he rolls over, wiping his eyes and contemplating the day ahead. Its Friday so will hopefully be busy. And Anna will be in – thank goodness. He thinks he'll take Elsie out for dinner. Fix this thing before it becomes too big and too messy.

Elsie wakes late, leisurely, and decides that the weather is nice so she'll go out walking – it's a pleasant day and she's in no mood for sulking around the flat trying to find things to occupy her time. She manages a few miles, sticking to the main routes where there are plenty of others – dog walkers, couples, young families with children running about.

She has lunch in a small café, it's quaint and quiet and she thinks she'll take Charles there. He'll like the tranquillity of it, the fact they could eat outside and read in the sunshine. As she pays she spots the cakes and purchases an entire lemon drizzle one for him.

* * *

He's still working when she gets in – his Friday afternoon book group, the numbers have swelled since the makeover and she's happy for him, pleased its going well.

She's tired and sweaty and she sneaks through, going up to their flat for for a shower.

When his group have finally gone and the shop is empty he cashes up, puts their coffee mugs into the sink for cleaning and heads upstairs. He's tired, cranky and unsettled and all he wants is a long bath and a short measure of single malt and to curl up on the couch with Elsie.

He fears few of those things will happen.

Its quiet in the flat, still and tranquil; he goes into the kitchen, fills the kettle and empties tea into the pot, there's a cake on a plate covered in cling film and he wonders if she baked it.

She's in the comfy chair in the lounge; what used to be his comfy chair, until she commandeered it. Now she reads there most nights, or if he's in it slinks into his lap and cuddles against him.

If she's noticed him there she doesn't show it; remains quiet, turns the pages of her book. Her hair is damp and clipped on top of her head and she's wearing her robe – it slips from her shoulder revealing the slightest hint of her creamy skin, still sun kissed from Italy.

"How long am I going to get the silent treatment for?" He said, his voice shaky; Elsie's eyes never left her book. "Because it's been two days now and I'm not sure I can take much more of it." He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Els… please."

"What do you want me to say?" She turned another page on her book. "You refuse to acknowledge that what I'm feeling is legitimate, so what's there to say?"

"I never said it wasn't legitimate. Just ill-founded."

She shrugged, silent again.

"Els… Elsie… I don't have feelings for Isobel."

"No. You just share all of our private matters with her."

"But I always have, she's my confidant, her and Richard. She's my best friend."

At that she snatched her breath, glanced up, "Really? Well that's nice to know, because if somebody asked me now who my best friend was I'd say you, clearly I need to rethink my priorities."

He groaned, covering his face, "No, that's not what I meant. I'm making a mess of this. You are… you're the most important thing, the most important person to me. Of course you are."

"But you have to think before you give that answer." She slid her glasses off, closing her book. He looked pale, his eyes dark and he had that kind of hangdog expression one expects of people in the dock. "Look Charles, it's all very well to have this fantasy of me – this woman who comes wandering into your shop who you quite fancy."

"It's not a fantasy."

"I think maybe it was, at one point. The reality of me, of us, is quite different. There's more to it than fancy holidays and buying a beautiful house and planning a home and a wedding and sex… there's more to me. And part of that is the boring mundane stuff yes – like financial decisions that should be kept between us because it's our business, nobody else's. And more than that Charles there's trust. I trusted you," her voice changed, clouding over. "I told you things about my life I've never told anyone, not Beryl, not Anna, not this counsellor… and now I feel like I can't tell you, because Isobel may find out."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Really? Because she mentioned that she knew I didn't get on with my father."

He shook his head, held his hands up, "No, that's not how it sounds… she asked about your family once, early on when we were still dating and you'd told me you left Scotland because you didn't get on with your father and I told her that, that's all. I'd never tell anyone the things you've shared in confidence. You have to believe that."

She shrugged, closing her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Elsie, you do, don't you?"

She nodded, "Yes. I do believe that."

"Good."

"But that doesn't change the other things. Charles you have to realise that this is 'us' now, and I don't want to feel like every decision we make is being passed by her. No wonder the woman's quizzing me – probably thinks I'm some kind of gold digger. You've altered so much of your life recently… for me."

"She doesn't think that."

"Doesn't she? I would. Fancy holidays, selling your homes, buying this new place. And then this," she holds up her hand, wiggling her ring finger, "giving this away. She knows very little about me Charles."

"I want you to be friends with her."

"I know. But you can't force these things. We're different people, you and I, we can't always agree, we can't always have the same friends."

He flops down onto the sofa; he looks crestfallen, worn out.

"You should go to bed. You look tired."

"I don't like arguing with you."

She sighs heavily, "But do you understand why I'm upset?"

He shrugs, "I suppose."

"That isn't an answer Charles –,"

"She would never deliberately upset you, she's not that kind of person."

She groans, rolls her head back in frustration, "Charles. This isn't about her."

"Then what? What can I do? Every thing I say is wrong."

Opening her book again she slides her glasses back on, "Go to bed. You look exhausted."

He thinks he dislikes the quiet arguments more than the roaring angry ones. At least he knows where he stands with that.

"Will you still be here, when I wake up?" He asks softly by the door.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Anna's frantic and flustered when she comes racing upstairs just after lunch on Saturday afternoon, "Mum, can you come downstairs and help in the shop?"

"Where's Charles?"

"He went out for lunch and he hasn't come back."

"Oh for goodness sake." She wipes the flour from her hands and follows Anna down.

"If you serve in the shop I can handle the coffees, you know how to work the register system?"

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"Where the bloody hell is he? Did you call him?"

"He left his phone here," she glances over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, "You two had an argument or something?"

"Just a slight disagreement," she squeezes Anna's shoulder as they reach the bottom of the stairs, "We'll sort it. Though I could kill him for making me work in the shop, I was baking."

"It smells great."

There's a queue at the register when they get downstairs and Elsie gets a 45 second crash-course into how to work it before being left to fend for herself.

* * *

Thomas slips his sunglasses back on as he leaves the pub and crosses the beer garden, a gin and tonic in one hand, a pint in the other. It's almost three and he can't quite remember how many units he's consumed – let alone calories – but Charles has been lamenting for the past two hours and he feels he really should stay and listen.

Slipping back onto the bench across from his older friend he slides the beer across the table.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Thomas slipped his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the time.

"I'm no good at relationships, I never have been." Charles mumbled, staring into his drink, the sun hot on the back of his neck. "Maybe I'm just meant to be single."

"Don't be fucking ridiculous." Thomas said, slamming his phone down. "You absolutely love her and she absolutely loves you. You just made a mistake, a big one, but a mistake."

"But why did I make such a 'big' mistake? I don't fully understand why she's so upset…"

"Jesus Charles, you shared information about your relationship with Isobel, your ex, of course she's going to be upset."

"But she's not my ex, not really, we were just kids."

"Kids who knew each other intimately. To be honest I've never fully understood why Richard's okay with it, it's a bit weird."

"No, I mean, he was there, he knew what happened. If anything he felt guilty for being the one to break us up, but we weren't right and he and Isobel are, they just worked."

"Just like you and Elsie just work."

"Yeah."

"So what the fuck are you doing sitting with me in the pub when you should be on your knees getting that woman to forgive you?"

"I don't what to say, everything I say is wrong."

"How about 'I'm sorry, I've been a dick, forgive me', that might be a start."

Charles pouted, took a gulp of his beer. "Not used to having to think every single bloody thing through."

"I'll tell you what you're not used to, you're not used to having to think about someone else, not every day, neither am I – this relationship with Jimmy is killing me. But the difference between us is I'm a selfish bastard and you're not. You're actually quite nice. And look at you – look how you've changed just this year alone, you've never been like this. So… tell Isobel to back off, she's your friend and all but to be honest mate she can be a bit controlling. And she's never liked me."

"That's because you deliberately wind her up at Christmas parties by saying provocative things."

"Elsie laughs at my jokes."

He smiled, "That's because Elsie has a similar filthy sense of humour."

"She likes Madonna too."

"She'd dance to anything."

"I do get to be your best man don't I?"

"Page boy maybe. Are you going to bring this Jimmy to the engagement party?"

"If he'll come, he's a damn flirt though, he'll be after anything with a pulse."

Charles frowned, "You are happy though, aren't you?"

Thomas shrugged, "Sometimes. Are you?"

He breathed deeply, "All the time."

"Well then, drink up and go home."

* * *

He walks home, the breeze helps to clear his slightly fuzzy head and he figures things would be even worse if he turned up half-drunk. As he's passing a florist tidying up he stops to purchase a bunch of flowers; a few metres down the street he remembers Anna, turns round and buys another.

When he reaches the bookshop the closed sign is showing and he has to knock on the glass. Anna looks up from the cash register and he reckons he's seen the look she gives him on Elsie's face before. She lets him in and he sheepishly follows her back to the counter.

"Sorry," he finally says, watching how quickly she manages the cashing up. "Didn't keep an eye on the clock."

Anna rolls her eyes and he knows he's seen _that_ look before.

"Those for mum?" Anna asks.

"One for you," he holds the flowers out to her. "Thanks for covering for me."

"You better thank mum too, she was down here a couple of hours too."

"Really?"

"A-ha. We're quite the team you know."

"Oh. I know. I know how lucky I am."

Anna's shoulders sag and she accepts the flowers from him. "Well, we're lucky too. Even when you are a bit of a pillock."

"You know why me and your mum are arguing?"

"Nope. She hasn't said a thing. She didn't even say you were arguing – she said it was a _slight disagreement_. Maybe you ought to go talk to her. I'll lock up down here, and see you Tuesday."

"Thank you." He walks past her, stops, re-thinks and turns to kiss her cheek.

There's a delicious smell coming from upstairs and he can hear music playing in the kitchen and Elsie singing. He stops on the stairs for a moment listening, taking his time; he can't imagine life without her in it now.

Brushing a hand through his hair he climbs the rest of the stairs and stops by the kitchen door, watching as she rinses dishes at the sink, her back to him.

She's swaying her hips, curving her waist as she moves from side-to-side, and singing along animatedly to the lyrics.

'_I'm runnin' away from Cinderella. Don't want to go to Rapunzel's hairdresser. Get me outta this, this, this here fairytale. According to me dreams are hell. All I want is an apartment. All I need is an apartment. If you've any leads on an apartment, tell me please. 'Cause I'm runnin' away from Cinderella.'_

"Some thing smells wonderful." He says as the instrumental takes over.

She looks back sharply, a slight smile upon her lips as her cheeks colour, "Thank you. Goats cheese and onion tarts."

"For us?"

"Unless you've already eaten?"

"Course not."

"There's pear tart too, I made too much pastry." She shrugged, drying her hands on a towel.

"What's this? I recognise the voice."

"That's because she's a legend."

"Bassey? Never heard this track."

"It was new stuff, few years ago."

"And is that how you feel, you want to go back to your apartment?"

She leant back against the sink. "Don't be silly... I was worried you know.."

"Was with Thomas, lost track of time. Talking." He held the flowers towards her, "Sorry."

"For…?"

"Disappearing."

"That's it?"

"Sorry…" he sighs, "I'm sorry for hurting you, I realise that my sharing things with Isobel wasn't fair."

She closes her eyes, just momentarily, and he watches her intake of breath – relief. "Thank you."

Tentatively he takes a step closer, handing her the flowers.

Her eyes are wide and bright as she looks up at him, the blue shining, "You hurt me." She finally says.

He bites his lip, squeezes the stems of the flowers, "I won't do it again."

"Good."

"So, are we friends again?"

"Charles," she slides her hands up over his shoulders, "We never stopped being friends."

"I don't always get things right."

"Who does? We're human. We're still learning who we are together. But I do want to feel you're on my side."

"Always."

"Well then," she takes the flowers from him, lays them across the sink. "Dance with me."

He realises the track has changed, and she's taking his hand and moving with him, dancing in their kitchen.

'_No more trying to break free, no more apologies. No more finding my feet just to fall. Every dream didn't just take me further away. Every dream took me closer to finding you. I know this time's the time, the time for love. And it's right here in front of my eyes. I know this time's the time. You only get once in your life.'_

"I do love you," he says by her ear, breathing in the scent of her.

"I know that," she leans her head back to look at him, "I never doubt that. It's just working things out together."

"I suppose I'm not always used to considering someone else's feelings."

She doesn't respond, only smiles and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Are you coming to the zoo tomorrow?"

"You're going?" He asks, confused.

"Yes. I promised Laurel, I'm picking her up in the morning. She wanted the seaside but I told her it'll have to be the zoo for now, we might drive to the coast later in the summer, stay for a few days."

"I'd like to."

"Good." She tapped his chest. "I'm going to make the salad for dinner. Why don't you pour some wine, set the table?"

He does as she asks, watching her slice tomatoes, listening to the rise and fall of the music.

"I have an odd feeling."

"Oh?"

"We've had days of being unsettled."

"Yes. But we're fine. We always were." She looks over to him as he sinks into a chair, "You do know that don't you?"

He shrugs.

"Charles. We don't just stop." Putting down the knife she kneels in front of him, "When I proposed it meant forever, just as the vows state. And I can tell you that in that time we're going to have a fair few arguments. But it doesn't mean we won't be together. It just means we won't always be on the same page."

"I'm sorry I made you feel like I wasn't there with you."

"Well, I can tell you I've taken liberties and started planning our engagement party and you're going to have to dance. And if you don't like it tough, because I've already booked the venue and bought my outfit."

He smiles, touching her hair, "Can I see it?"

"Oh no, a surprise until the night."

"I can't wait."

"Good," she leant forward and kissed him again. "Because neither can I. I want everybody to see how in love we are."

* * *

_Left a lot of courage behind. That I won't be needing this time. Cause I can be true. I can be one, I can be strong. I know this time's the time, you only get once in your life. I know this heart's the heart, the heart I'm keeping. For the love I thought I'd never find. I know this times forever. For worse and for better, this time._

* * *

_I wanted to show a balanced approach here, I hope I've achieved it! Not out and out rowing but just learning...a difficult thing in any relationship! xx_


	30. Chapter 30

_Trips to the zoo! Lots of cute stuff here but also some scenes of marital abuse too, so you have been warned._

* * *

**Chapter 30**

**Fifteen years earlier**

Elsie hasn't even taken her coat off, her bag has been thrown on the counter and she's grabbing things from the fridge and turning the oven on high. She takes out the pizza base from the packet (trying to ignore the guilt that comes with feeding her daughter pre-packed food stuffs). At least the tomato sauce is homemade, packed with capers as Anna loves them. She spreads it over the base and is scattering cheese on top when she hears the front door open and her husband come home and she closes her eyes briefly.

"Daddy!" She hears Anna squeal and she shoves the pizza onto a tray, angry at herself for the splattering of tomato sauce up her coat sleeve.

"Why's she eating so late?" He asks as he comes into the kitchen, rolling up his shirtsleeves and rinsing his hands.

"Because we've only just got in."

"Snappy tone." He comments. "Why have just got in?"

"Because I told you," she slams the oven door shut. "I had a parent consultation and had to pick Anna up and sit her in my classroom whilst I met them. If you'd offered to pick her up instead…"

And then his fingers are tangled in her hair, tugging her head back and she gasps in pain, biting her lip to keep the sound inside.

"Don't get smart." He pulls again, just to remind her. "You wanted to work you organise the time. My daughter doesn't eat late."

It's over in the flash of a second and he's in the lounge again, talking to Anna about her homework and what it's like now she's at 'big school.' And Elsie is shaking in the kitchen, her hands flat on the counter, fingers pressing into left-behind cheese and droplets of tomato sauce.

And that's when it really began.

* * *

**Present Day**

Charles sits in the car waiting for Elsie to come out of Beryl's – it's 9:25 on a Sunday morning and he's nervous. Ridiculous really. To be nervous of spending the day with a five-year-old, but there it is.

When Laurel skips out of the front door swinging her hat in her hand he thinks how free she looks. Bright pink dungarees and purple patent boots. Her fair hair is tied tight in pigtails and she's rushing to Elsie's car, clearly already familiar with the procedure.

She's yanked open the back door and is clambering in, her boots banging against the frame, and is plonking her dolly down on the seat beside her before she even notices Charles.

Then she stops. Stares at him for a second. Then screams. So ear-piercingly high he actually covers his ears.

Beryl and Elsie race out of the front door searching for the cause of the trouble.

"What's this noise?" Beryl asks coming to the back door, her hand squeezing Laurel's leg. "Hey, hey. Stop it. What's wrong?"

A trembling tiny finger raises and points at Charles and he feels his cheeks redden at the implication he's done something wrong. Elsie has opened her car door and stands looking at him shaking her head and he shrugs. "I was just sitting here."

"Laurel, apologise to Mr Carson." Beryl demands, fastening the belt on the girl's car seat.

"It's fine." He says, watching Elsie's smirk widen as she gets into the car.

"Honestly, I leave you five minutes."

"Sorry, Mr Carsss…" Laurel giggles.

"You can call me Charles if you like," he offers, glancing back at her.

She shakes her head, stubborn. Her pigtails swishing back and forth.

"How about Charlie?" Elsie asks, twisting to look back at her.

The girl nods, smiling, and Charles rolls his eyes. "Can we have my songs on Aunty Elsie?"

"Not too loud though." Beryl says, rubbing Laurel's stomach. "Now, give me a kiss."

Laurel does.

"Have a good day, be good for Aunty Elsie and Charlie. Love you."

"Love you too."

"Good girl." Beryl closes the door and leans through Elsie's window to kiss her cheek. "Have a good time sweetheart, thank you, and you Charles."

He raises his hand in a wave and they reverse off the gravel drive and turning out into the road.

"How long till we get there?" Laurel asks, kicking the back of Elsie's chair.

"Oh, at least two hours," Elsie says. "I'll put your songs on and you and Alice have a sing and read your books and we'll be there in no time."

"Who's Alice?" Charles whispers.

"The doll." She mouths in response.

"I'm thirsty." Laurel proclaims.

"We've only just set off. We can't stop yet."

"Actually, I'm thirsty too." Charles says quietly.

"I can see I'm going to have to contend with two children today…" she complains, but pulls into the next petrol station to purchase drinks.

* * *

It's after eleven when they finally park and Elsie is searching in the bag Beryl packed up for snacks, otherwise Laurel will be grouchy and tired before they even get started.

"Are you getting out madam?" She asks, fussing in the boot of the car.

"It feels cold."

"It's cold in the car because of the air conditioning." Charles says, standing by her open door. "It's actually rather warm out here. You'll need your hat."

The hat flies past him and lands on the dirt.

"Hate that hat!"

He stares at it, confused.

"Laurel Patmore!" Elsie says, adopting her most teacherly tone, "You get out of the car this instant and pick that hat up and apologise to Charles."

Reluctantly she swings her legs out and drops to the floor, picking the hat up and squashing it onto her head.

"And?" Elsie warns.

"Stop being _mean_." Laurel whines.

"When you do as I asked."

With a huff she finally mumbles, "Sorry."

"For?"

"Throwing my hat."

Charles can't help but feel sorry for the little thing; she's so unbearably cute and so utterly clueless and innocent – well, that's how it seems to him anyhow.

Elsie shakes her head as she watches him stare at her, he's only really known her a few hours and she's already got him wrapped around her finger.

"You want a biscuit or your fruit?"

"Apple please." Laurel asks, holding out her hand. Elsie passes it to her and she takes a tiny bite, Charles thinks it will take her an eternity to finish it. "Thank you very much Aunty Elsie. And Mr Charlie." She starts twirling on the grass and Charles leans against he car watching her, his heart in his throat as she spins and twirls. "Mr Charlie Charlie. Mr Charlie Charl." She sings, her hair spinning.

"Now you see, you're friends." Elsie smiled, closing the boot of the car. "She's even singing your name."

"You don't even do that." He quips, and she leans up to kiss him.

"I'll sing it later. Privately."

"Promises, promises."

She hooks the bag over her arm and kisses him again.

"Urgh!" Laurel gushes, "That's dis-gus-ting!"

"Alright, alright. Let's go. Where to first? As if I even need to ask."

"GIRAFFES!" Laurel squeals and Charles wonders how one little being can make so much noise and move so quickly from one mood to the next.

"Hold my hand then." Elsie instructs and Laurel does. "We'll go pay and then a quick toilet break –,"

"I don't need to go."

"You will so you can come with me. And then giraffes."

"Can I ride on one?"

"Not sure they'd like that."

"Can we ask?"

"Yes I'll ask the Mummy one."

"Giraffes don't talk, silly." Laurel giggles.

"No? Maybe I'll ask the keeper then. We might be able to feed them if we get there for their dinner."

Charles wanders behind him, watching their interaction as he might a documentary. The gentle interplay, the swinging of joined hands, the sniggering and teasing.

He can't help but feel he's getting to see a little of what Elsie was like as a mother.

* * *

**Twelve years earlier**

It's only just after eight and Anna is in bed. Elsie has planning to do and marking to catch up on and she's glad that the birthday celebrations have exhausted her thirteen year old girl – the thought of her already being a teenager is somewhat terrifying to her, it's going so fast.

She thinks she'll change first, shower, then settle herself in the kitchen with a glass of red and her laptop and get stuck in. If she's lucky she'll make it to bed before 11:30 and she needs the sleep. Birthday parties sure take it out of you.

Joe grabs her when she's half undressed, in just her skirt and bra, and slams her forward against the wall. She doesn't know why, she can't think clearly, can't recall what she's done or said that's upset him. He'd been fine all day – happy, smiling, even dancing with her at the party to Anna's choice of Sk8er Boi – her favourite song of the moment.

"What…?" She's about to question, but his hand covers her mouth and she's manoeuvred around, until she's leaning over the rails at the bottom of the bed and being bent forward, her skirt pushed up and his knees between her legs forcing them open.

There's no point in fighting now or arguing, she knows what's coming and in some ways it's easier to accept that and let it happen.

She feels the cool air around her thighs as her underwear is removed and the heavy breathing of him behind her, the hardness of the bar digging into her stomach. Her eyes are closed, senses dulled, almost turned off because if she doesn't feel or think or smell or taste then none of it is real.

He's pushing inside her, rough and fast, and her body isn't ready or willing and as a result it stings. She digs her nails into her own palms as a diversion tactic and then she hears Anna shout for her.

Her senses awaken and she's trying to stand up straight but he won't stop.

"Mummy!"

Her ears focus in on the sounds her daughter's making, clearly she's being sick, and she wants to go to her, is trying to pull free but her determination to move seems to have spurred him on more than her willingness just to take it and he forcefully pushes her forward again, panting and groaning and cursing.

Finally he sags against her and she pushes him back, tripping over his legs as she heads toward the bedroom door, brushing her hair back from her face as she wobbles down the hallway to Anna's room.

"Honey," she says, turning on the light. "Are you alright?"

Anna is crying, her hair plastered to her forehead and her skin clammy. The bed sheets are covered in vomit.

"I felt ill."

"Too much fizzy pop and excitement, never mind." She rolls the stained sheets back. "I'll wash them and it will be fine."

She's wrapped her arms around her exhausted daughter, her limp body leaning into her mother's chest as her tears subside and she begins to drift back to sleep. She rubs her back, her arm, strokes her hair, all the while trying to ignore the burning pain between her legs.

"Come wash your face and have a drink of water and then you'll have to sleep in the spare room."

"Your bed?"

Elsie can't help but smile, she may be thirteen but she's still her baby.

"Come on then," she eases her out of bed, helps her stand and leads her down the hallway to the bathroom.

Anna washes her face, rinses her mouth and uses the toilet and Elsie stands outside, leaning against the wall across from the bathroom door as Joe emerges from their room, fully dressed again – a fresh shirt.

"Going out." He states.

"Your daughter's been sick."

"Too much sugar. See you later."

For a moment she wonders just how on earth she got into this position. How this became what her life is. How easy it would be to pack now and leave whilst he's gone.

"Mum," Anna says weakly, opening the bathroom door. "Where's Daddy?"

She swallows, pauses just momentarily, before resting her hand on Anna's arm and drawing her to her, "He'll be back soon, let's get you into bed. He'll be back before you fall asleep."

* * *

**Present Day**

"Aunty Elsie I can't see, I can't see the show."

Elsie struggled with an ice cream in one hand and a giant giraffe in the other, "Wait a second honey."

Watching the exchange as one not used to children Charles turned the situation over in his mind for a few seconds before he bent, scooped Laurel up and sat her on his shoulders.

"Yay, now I'm the tallest one here." She said, tapping her hands on top of Charles' head.

Elsie smirked, looking up at Charles' face and Laurel's legs swinging against his chest.

"Sweetie, Mr Carson might appreciate it if you didn't kick him," she said, touching her foot to still it. "Watch the seals. They're clever."

"They are. Can I have my ice cream again?"

"Sure." Elsie licked the melting cream from her fingers and wrapped a tissue around the cone as she handed it up to her.

"Why do I feel this will end up in my hair?" Charles whispered.

"Maybe only some of it, if you're lucky."

"Can we do the elephants next? I always loved them as a kid." He said.

She squeezed his arm, "Of course honey. Anything to please you. Me and my two kids." She rolled her eyes at his giddy expression.

"Yay!" Laurel squealed, bouncing on Charles' shoulders. He grimaced and frowned at Elsie. "Look at the small one, it's a baby one. Can I get one Aunty Elsie?"

"Isn't the giraffe enough?"

"They can all sleep in my bed."

"There'll be no room for you," Elsie teases, squeezing the girl's ankle. "Little munchkin."

Later, as they walk to the elephant enclosure, Laurel swings between them, Elsie holding the giraffe under one arm and Laurel's hand in the other.

"You're always 'on' aren't you, with children." He says over the girl's head.

"You're realising that?"

"Exhausting stuff. Especially at my age."

"Keeps you young."

"Come on Mr Charlie, swing better." Laurel pleads, pulling on his arm.

Elsie giggles, "Yes, do come on Mr Charlie, play your part."

"Play my part…!" He reaches down and scoops Laurel up, sweeping her through the air with ease.

The little girl yells and squeals and he quickly lowers her again, concerned.

"Again! Again! Make me go higher." She commands and Elsie is laughing as she watches the simultaneous emotions pass over his face – concern, worry, confusion, delight.

"Wooo!" Laurel yells, "Make it like an elephant, like I'm riding the elephant."

He sees little option but to sit her on his shoulders, wondering how else he could possibly imitate an elephant.

"Do your trunk," she said excitedly, waving her arm in front. "With your arm."

"You're bossier than your aunt."

"Hey!" Elsie complained.

But he's already doing as the girl asks and the pair of them are jogging ahead making silly noises, receiving a few odd glances from passers-by, sympathetic looks from other grandparents – for that's how he appears, a Grandfather entertaining his granddaughter.

* * *

**Nine Years Earlier**

Elsie sat on her own at the bench by the Penguin enclosure, watching as Anna bent by the glass observing them swim and play.

It was late afternoon, the sun setting, the air cooling.

"We should go soon," she said gently, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her. "Head to the restaurant."

Anna got up slowly, turned and came to sit by her mum. "Will Dad come for tea?"

Elsie shrugged, "I don't know. We can ring him, if you like."

"I don't mind." She turned, resting her hand on her mum's arm. "Really mum, I don't mind. It's better just the two of us…"

Elsie reached forward to tuck Anna's hair behind her ear, "My little girl, sixteen years old. You sure you've not minded today, not too babyish for you?"

"You kidding me? You know I love coming to the zoo, and besides we have the party on Saturday, this is great mum, really." She leant against her arm, curled into her warmth and fragrance and watched the penguins play.

"I'm sorry he isn't here." Elsie said, resting her chin on Anna's head.

"I'm not."

For a long time they're silent, mother and daughter watching the penguins at closing time at the zoo, a '16 today' balloon dancing around, trying to escape from where it's tied to Anna's wrist.

"We really have to go now," Elsie said, noticing cleaners locking gates.

"Yes." But still Anna doesn't move, then she whispers, "You should leave him."

* * *

**Present Day**

By four o'clock Laurel is asleep and curled in Charles' arms as they join the Sunday crowds heading into the car park to leave. Elsie trudges behind him loaded down with Laurel's travel bag, a giraffe, an elephant and two take-away coffees to sustain them during their drive home.

"How am I gonna do this?" He asks by the car, Laurel's tiny body draped over his arms.

"One second and I'll help," she popped the boot and dropped their belongings in, resting their coffees on the roof of the car before opening the back door. "She needs to be in her seat, she won't wake don't worry."

She realised she could have taken her from him and put her in herself but it was better for him to do it – he carefully sat her down, delicately laid her head against the side of the seat and fastened the belt.

"Here," she said, handing him a blanket, "Give her that dolly too."

"Alice," he reminded, tucking her in and placing the doll beneath her arm and taking off her sun hat – placing it on the seat beside her.

When he made it to his own seat he groaned, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I am exhausted."

"The joy of children," Elsie said, handing him his coffee.

"Thank you darling. You sure you don't mind driving?"

"Not at all, you've carried her around most of the day."

"I think we're friends now." He said, glancing back at her.

"Only because you give in easily and buy her what she asks for."

"Well, if you can't get spoilt as a kid then when can you hey?"

She reached across to squeeze his hand, "You've enjoyed it though?"

"Very much. But I want to go home and collapse on the sofa with a beer and someone to rub my feet."

"I'll go as far as fetching the beer from the fridge."

"I suppose that's love enough."

* * *

Charles hands over a sleepy Laurel to Bill on the doorstep and she slips easily from one pair of arms to the other.

"Daddy?" She asks, eyes still half-closed.

"Hey baby, you have a good day?" Bill smiles down at her.

"Yes. I got a giraffe and an elephant. And Aunty Elsie got ice cream down her top."

"Part of the course?" Bill states as Elsie hands across the stuffed animals and travel bag.

"Something like that," she leans in closer to Laurel, brushing her thumb down the girl's cheek. "See you soon then munchkin." She whispers, kissing her forehead. Laurel holds her arms up and slips them around Elsie's neck, pulling her to her for a hug. "Bye, bye." She says, kissing her again.

She feels Charles' hand on her back and she reaches to hold his hand, "Bye." He says to Bill, watching Laurel nestle into his chest. "Bye Laurel."

They start to walk back to the car when Laurel sticks her arms up again, "Mr Charlie Charl," and Elsie lets go of his hand, smiling as he returns to hug the little girl.

He kisses her hair, "Night, night sweetheart."

As he closes the car door he sighs heavily, watching Bill carry her inside and close the door. He can't help but think there's too much he's missed out of in this life.

He feels Elsie's fingers touch his and he switches his attention to her.

"Fancy getting take-away on the way home?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

They eat sitting on the floor in the lounge leaning on the coffee table, relaxed and at ease. Charles makes Gin and Tonics and they listen to the evening news as they eat.

"I like Sundays like this," she says later, after throwing away their discarded take-away trays and packing leftover food into the fridge. "Sundays without work."

"Some of us do have to work tomorrow." He says, sinking into his comfy chair. "And are ill-prepared for that fact."

"Oh dear," she leans against the lounge door watching him as he closes his eyes and settles back. "Ice cream?" She suggests, and he look up at her quickly, "Yes please."

There's Haagan Dazs in the freezer and she takes that and two spoons in with her, taking the blanket from the arm of the sofa and handing it to him to hold as she climbs into his lap, her legs hanging over the side of the armchair.

He pulls the blanket across her legs, marvelling at how easily she fits against him, how comfortable it is.

"Trying to get into my chair." He mumbles as she eases the lid from the tub of ice cream.

"I believe it's my chair now."

"Is it?" He's rubbing her back as she sits forward to put the lid on the coffee table. When she leans back he kisses her head, breathes in her scent.

She holds a spoon out to him, "Surely, you wouldn't begrudge me sharing your chair…?" She teases.

"Perhaps not." He takes the spoon from her and she plonks the ice cream tub on her stomach, leaning back against him. "I enjoyed today. Though I'm exhausted."

She chuckles, "Having children is tiring, and we're hardly young anymore."

"Truly not," he digs his spoon into the softening ice cream. "I am nearing retirement."

She slowly lets a spoonful of ice cream melt on her tongue. "But you're still fit."

"Thanks darling." He smiles, tickling her waist. "You're pretty fit yourself."

"Well, the therapist thinks I should start doing some regular exercise – take up a sport or if not swimming or something. Good to clear my mind."

He swallows, it makes sense, though he sometimes – in all the joy and excitement of buying their house and getting engaged – forgets she's still seeing a counsellor.

"Come cycling with me."

"You must be kidding, I hate bikes, they rub places in a rather uncomfortable manner."

He laughed, "You need a padded seat. Like I have."

"Enough information, I'll try swimming first." She takes another spoonful of ice cream, "Though eating this stuff probably doesn't help."

"Probably not, it's Sunday though, good to have a treat. I can't believe how much food stuffs one little girl puts away."

"Yes but you're a pushover…"

"Oh I am not!"

"You bloody well are," she changed her voice, imitating Laurel, "Oh please Mr Charlie, let me have some more candyfloss and another giant teddy bear at £30 a go and I may as well just have a Jaguar whilst I'm at it.' You're an easy target."

"That's a lie, I was being nice, want her to like me."

"She'll like you anyhow, money or not."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why_?"

"Well, I'm an old guy who isn't very good at talking to children, why would she like me?"

"Oh Charles, because you're you silly. A very sweet, kind man." She dug her spoon into the ice cream, leaving it there. "How different things would have been…" she says, leaning her head back against his arm.

For a moment he stares at her before catching on, "If we'd met when we were young?" She nods. "Reckon you would have dated me?"

She shrugs, "If you'd asked, maybe."

"Maybe?" He tickles her waist again, reaching for the sensitive spot on her stomach. "Only _maybe_."

"Alright yes," she's laughing, pushing his hands away, "Yes I would have dated you."

"And married me?" he says, his voice taking on a warmer tone, pulling her body into his.

"Yes, I'd hope so." Her fingertips trace up his chest, to the bare skin of his neck, "And you're thinking babies…?"

"I was thinking three. Two boys and a girl."

Her eyes widen, "Three! That's a lot of pregnancy and pushing."

He chuckles, "It is. Worth it?"

"You wouldn't have had to do it."

"No. But I would have been by your side."

She sighs, closes her eyes and rests her face against his chest, "How different it might have been, having babies with you."

He doesn't want her mind to wander to darker memories and squeezes her tight, the ice cream tub toppling on her stomach.

"But I wouldn't change anything for what I have now. What we have."

"Me neither," she buried her nose against his shirt, utterly content.

"Comfy there are you Ms Hughes?"

"Mmm, don't bother me."

"This ice cream is melting, it needs to go back in the freezer."

"Don't you dare move."

He tangles his fingers into the ends of her hair, still sun kissed from Italy, "I promise I'll be quick, and fetch us a night cap, then you can snuggle back here and we'll watch a movie. How's that?" He kisses her head.

"Mmm, that sounds nice."

"You remember the first time we snuggled up to watch a movie?"

For a moment she was quiet then she finally smiled as she said, "January."

* * *

**Late January 2015 – 7 months earlier**

For some reason he spends an age in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror and contemplating the fact Elsie – whom he now firmly believes is his 'girlfriend' – is only metres away, in his bedroom, and he feels slightly giddy (and slightly ridiculous about feeling such a way) because she is staying over. For the first time she is staying over at his flat. Of course he's stayed at her apartment several times now, and he doesn't mind that, she clearly feels more comfortable sleeping with him there but there's something rather nice about having her in his home. In sharing it with her.

He finds he's been preoccupied all day about that fact. Worrying over his old bed and the fact it sags in the middle; it doesn't bother him but then he's used to it and the last time he had a woman in his bed it was a different mattress. He's repetitively cursed the snow all day, worried she wouldn't make it over.

As it was she walked part of the way, then caught a slow-moving bus into town and trudged to his shop. He'd had about six customers all day so locked up as soon as she arrived and went upstairs with her.

"Tea?" He asked as he filled the kettle.

"Anything warm, my cheeks feel bitten." She said, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck and head.

He eyes her overnight bag on the floor by the kitchen door and watches as she sinks into a chair. She's wearing purple wellington boots which are dripping onto his floor.

"Do your wellingtons have sparkles on them?" He asks.

"Yes, they do." She wiggles her feet a little, "Pretty snazzy aren't they?"

"Certainly different."

She laughs, "Anna bought them for me for Christmas. Could you help me take them off though, they're very tight?"

"Thank you for making the effort," he says as he bends to help tug them off. "It really was above and beyond, coming all this way in the snow."

"Well, it better be a damn good dinner. It smells wonderful."

He fell back as her boot finally came loose and she gasped and reached for his arm, pulling him forward again as she giggled.

"You okay?"

"Fine. I'm afraid I had to resort to a casserole for dinner, many of the shops were closed."

"That's fine, nothing better on snowy days than comfort food. Please tell me we're having mashed potato with it."

"We can do. If you'd like that."

She nodded, "I'll make it, I'd like to contribute. I've brought wine, it's in my bag."

He thinks of her spending her Saturday tramping through the snow, getting on a bus lugging about her travel bag – all to spend the evening having dinner with him.

At their joint tugging her second boot comes off and he smiles, sagging forward.

"That was hard work."

"Hmm, it might snow again tonight and then you'll be stuck with me." She rests her hands on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him.

He can think of nothing better than getting stuck with her in his flat.

"We could go for a walk in the morning, make the most of the wintry scene." He says.

"That'd be nice."

She gets to her feet, leaning on his shoulders to support herself and then pulling him up too. "Shall we cook?"

She's been a little different since Christmas. Perhaps slightly distant. He doesn't mind that, he knew from the start she wanted to take it slow – he feels there's probably something of her last marriage influencing her tentativeness now. He's always sensed she was rather sad, for years she's occupied his shop, reading in the quiet corner, and there was always something creeping at the back of his mind about her (not just his obvious attraction to her) but something of the melancholy about her.

He wonders just what her ex-husband did to hurt her so, though their conversations haven't ventured into that rather sensitive area yet.

After the heavy dinner Elsie suggested they watch a film and flicked through the channels until she found one suitable – he sat at one end of the sofa, a glass of wine in his hand, and watched as she took the blanket off of the opposite end, bringing it with her as she curled her legs beneath her on the sofa and snuggled back against his chest, draping the blanket over them.

He almost froze at the move. It was unexpectedly sweet and he felt slightly overwhelmed by the tightness in his stomach at her movement.

His feelings for her – always bubbling away when she was nothing but an acquaintance, nothing but a customer – had flourished and bloomed so very much since August. It hadn't even been six months and already he was thinking of forever with her. It was a surprising revelation to him, to find he actually wanted to be with somebody each and every day. He'd never had that before. And the new feelings sweeping into his heart were both terrifying and invigorating.

"I'm not making it uncomfortable am I?" She mumbled against his chest.

"Far from it," he rested his hand on her shoulder; let his fingers creep up to her neck, tracing light patterns beneath her chin and then up to her hairline. "Far, far from it."

* * *

Deciding that hiding in the bathroom worrying about his squeaky bed is not the answer he finally switches out the light and goes into the hallway.

The rich aroma of boeuf bourguignon still fills his flat and it seems to warm the rooms as he checks the doors are locked and turns off lights.

When he gets to his bedroom she is in the dark, standing by the window.

"Something happening out there?"

"Snowing again, it looks beautiful. Come see."

He does as she asks, kneeling beside her on the floor so they can rest their elbows on the windowsill and press their faces against the glass.

"I might never get up again."

"Oh, you will." She pats his arm. "I'll help you. Of course it all looks very nice until you have to get out in it, trying to get your car to work and worrying about getting home."

"And at those times I'm happy to be living where I work."

"Oh yes," she turns to look at him, his profile against the darkness of the room. "This is my first sleepover here."

"It is." He turns to face her, "Have I treated you well so far?"

"Oh very much so, lovely dinner, good movie and a comfortable body to rest against."

He chuckled, "Not sure how I feel about that description."

"I meant it affectionately." She touched his arm again. "Though perhaps we should go to bed now."

"Perhaps we should."

She got up first, leaning against his shoulder to support herself, he let the curtains fall shut and turned on his knees, finding her stood close and his face near her stomach.

Instinctively he slid his hands up her legs, beneath the dressing gown she wore, pulling her against him, his face burying into her stomach, breathing in the sweet, heady scent of her.

He felt one of her hands on his shoulder, firm and strong, the other sliding into his hair. There was so much passion between them that he was almost afraid of what to do with it. They were getting there – slowly – and he hoped that in time that passion would continue to grow and things would be easy between them, no more nerves or worries about what the other liked or if they were enjoying it as much.

His fingers deftly untied the robe and it fell apart around him, she trembled as his hand rested on her belly and he worried she was cold but she sank down into his arms, his hands sliding around the bare skin of her hips and back.

Elsie's mouth met his, instantly deep and overwhelming to his senses. Her legs were straddling his and he leant back, feeling the warmth of her thighs circling him.

She smiled as he moaned, leaning back into his supporting hands, pushing her robe off her shoulders. It felt good, after so many years of feeling alone, to have a man look at her the way he did, as if he worshipped her very flesh. Since Christmas she'd felt uncertain about this, confused over Joe and what his visits meant, but she so wanted to just embrace this, to sink into it and enjoy being with Charles – because what ever other muddled thoughts her brain might have had she knew he was a good man. And she already cared for him so very much.

His lips traced a path down between her breasts, his tongue tasting her, and when he took her nipple into the warmth of his mouth she moaned her pleasure and he smiled. To hear her make such noises, such tempting, delicious sighs of pleasure.

"You're very beautiful," he said, his thumb rubbing her lower lip until she nipped it with her teeth. "Very beautiful."

"I'm not used to being told so."

"You should be." He rolled her backwards until she was lying on the bedroom floor and he could lean over her, his wonderful rich voice vibrating by her ear, "someone should tell you every day."

She pushed his pyjama shirt up his stomach, over his chest, and he moved so she could rid him of it. His trousers felt constraining, restrictive, and he moved between her thighs, feeling her hold him there.

"Here?" She said, her voice seductive, "Not your bed?"

He felt his throat tighten, "My bed, it erm…"

"It erm?" She looped her arms over his shoulders. "It what?"

"It can be rather noisy." He admitted and she laughed, a joyous, raucous laugh.

"Oh dear, I do hope that's not down to all the women you've had in there."

"Indeed not!" He proclaimed, eager for her to believe him.

"I'm joking Charles," she squeezed his shoulders. "Well, I rather like a little noise every now and then. So why don't you take me to bed and let me judge for myself…?"

He did just that, he certainly didn't want her on his bedroom floor, he wanted her in his bed, to make love to her there - because, he'd come to realise, that was exactly what he was doing, making love to her, and he'd never felt he was doing that before neither.

* * *

_We are getting closer to their engagement party I promise, but then I have another idea and think 'Oooh I'll just do this!' 30chapters later and about 174 thousand words and they're still finding things to work through! Thanks for sticking with it and for all your wonderful messages on her and tumblr. x R_


	31. Chapter 31

_This has turned into a longer chapter than intended - I received a really interesting message from lemacd (which I really appreciate, anyone sending me messages about the story is a real boost) and it got me thinking which led to a certain scene in this chapter. So, I hope it answers some of your questions._

* * *

**Six Years Ago**

Elsie stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, smoothing her hands down the side of her body, over her belly, her ribcage, her breasts. She'd changed, and not just with age, she was bigger than she'd like to be – and not out of some vain ideas about being attractive to the opposite sex, she could care less about wanting men to notice her. This was about being comfortable with herself, and she wasn't.

She slid her hands up the back of her neck and into her cropped hair – it had been years since a man had done that, since she'd shivered at somebody's touch. She'd worn it that way for so long now, slightly darker than her own colour, short, curled; she always thought it looked okay. Now, she thought it made her look old and past-it. Maybe she was – worn out.

Forty-six years old and rapidly approaching mid-life doom and gloom. Nothing to look forward to. Little to look back on.

"You ready mum?" Anna asked, coming into the bedroom.

At nineteen and a year into her University course Anna, meanwhile, was blossoming into a beautiful, intelligent young lady. In some ways she envied her energy and drive; she envied the life that lay ahead of her. All new. All unblemished.

"You're not even dressed."

"I can't find anything to wear."

"Don't be silly you've got a wardrobe full of stuff." She said, flinging open the door. "And we're only going for a walk and some lunch."

"Nothing fits me right."

"You look fine."

"I'm flabby," he pulled at her waist as if to prove a point. "I don't remember being like this."

Anna fell back onto the bed, watching her.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what? I haven't said a thing."

"I know what you're thinking – that I'm eating too much cake and drinking too much wine."

"I'm not living here at the moment so how would I know that?"

Elsie turned to face her daughter, spread out on the bed, skinny and gorgeous.

"True I suppose, but look at you, you're stunningly beautiful!"

"Mum…" Anna groaned.

"I know, I know. You're 19, nothing's sagged yet." She started flipping through things in her wardrobe. "I'm sorry for being grumpy."

"Why are you feeling so insecure?"

Elsie shrugged, pulling out a loose fitting tunic to put on.

"Not because of Dad?"

She shrugged again, looking in the mirror and deciding it was as good as it was going to get.

"Mum," Anna said lowly, fiddling with the pillow on the bed, "You do remember, three years ago, at the zoo?"

"Hmm…" She was putting on mascara, concentrating in the mirror.

"I told you that you should leave him."

She almost poked herself in the eye. "Why on earth would you bring that up?"

"Because you haven't and I don't think you're happy. In fact I think since I left home you're even unhappier. And we both know what's going on mum…"

Elsie's breath caught, her throat seemed to shrink in and tighten cutting off her air…surely, she didn't mean…

"He's cheating mum, we both know that. He has been for years."

She felt the tension relax.

"I don't feel comfortable having that conversation with you."

"I know it isn't comfortable. It's horrible. But it's true and I still think you should leave him."

"Anna…"

"Look I'm not that ten year old kid anymore who thinks Daddy's the most perfect man on the earth. There are other men out there mother, better men."

Elsie huffed, "As if some other man would want me. As if I would even think about looking for another man. Besides it's not that…"

"I think it is, I think you're scared of being alone."

"I'm not."

"You're stronger than you think mum. Not many girls would leave home at nineteen and just go and live in another country with nothing. No plan. No money. You did."

"Scotland's hardly another country."

"Don't put yourself down. You put yourself through college, took an Open University course, you're a great teacher – kids love you, as they should."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Elsie gushed, bowing extravagantly to cover how awkward she was finding this whole thing, how intrusive. It was one thing to beat yourself up about your bad life choices, it was quite another to have your daughter point them out.

"And you raised me."

"Every one has to be allowed one failure."

"Oh shut up!" Anna said, throwing a pillow at her. "I'm being serious."

"I'm fine." Elsie shrugged. "Really. He's hardly even here these days."

"Just think about it will you, for me. You're a sexy lady mum."

"Oh my goodness! Don't say that!"

"It's true. You ought to be with someone who appreciates that, who treats you right."

* * *

**Present Day**

Charles wakes early, the morning summer sun coming in from the tall window, streaming warmth over the foot of the bed.

For a while he lays still and quiet, enjoying the simple pleasure of waking content and comfortable. They were early to bed following their day at the zoo and both asleep pretty much as soon as they'd curled up together.

Elsie still sleeps beside him and he turns to cuddle her, sliding his hands over her stomach, the material of her nightgown bunching beneath his fingers. She's warm and smells delicious; a mixture of the fragrance of soap upon her skin, her shampoo, fading perfume and that intense aroma that comes just from her alone.

Closing his eyes he breathes deeply, inhaling her. He can remember that not too long ago he wouldn't have even dared dream that this could be his realty. His fantasies were simple and restrained: a hope that she'd come in the shop that week; a wish that she might stand and speak with him for longer than before; that her hair would be down and she'd wear blue – a colour which he thought she looked particularly beautiful in.

Now, to be in the position where he can roll over and hold her, is overwhelming. It's a privilege to be allowed to touch her, he thinks, and not one he intends to waste.

He feels her move slightly, her leg shifting and her foot hitting his shin. He kisses the back of her neck – her hair against his face, his hands pressing against her stomach – and closes his eyes, drifting back to seep.

When he wakes again she's gone and he curses himself for not making the most of their morning in bed; they haven't made love since before the argument over Isobel and he misses that passionate intimacy they share.

Monday morning, the start of another working week. He rolls onto his back, arms folded beneath his head and recalls events from the previous day – bounding around with a little girl draped over his shoulders like some kind of idiot. Holding hands with Elsie as they watched Laurel play on the park.

Things, feelings, he'll recall when he's old and reflecting on his life. The moment he first saw her face. The first words she spoke to him. On his couch when she kissed him. In her bed making love.

He can hear her in the kitchen and quickly gets up, walking naked from bedroom to hall to kitchen.

"Good morning," she says without looking round, "see how nice I'm being, breakfast before you go to work, I'm like a 1950's housewife. Charles!" She gasps as she looks up and sees him naked. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I would have thought that was pretty obvious." He says, behind her in three steps, his hands around her waist turning her to face him and kissing her.

She's smiling, despite her palms on his bare chest pushing him back. His mouth slides over her neck, "I thought you had to get up for work."

"Customers can wait fifteen minutes." He mumbles against her skin, pushing up the material of her dress.

She's squeezing his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin, "Fifteen minutes!" She complains and he laughs.

His knees bend as his hands reach beneath her skirt, tugging at her underwear and easing them down her legs. "Why are you dressed so early?" He mutters, kissing her stomach through the fabric of her dress.

"Because I had things to do." Her hands are on his head, in his hair, as he bends before her. She groans when she feels his fingers slide against her, parting her thighs as his mouth moves to kiss her there.

"Charles," she gasps, "wait." And she's squirming around so much he has to stand again, steadying himself with his hands on her waist.

She's pushing a pan of scrambled eggs from the heat and her head is twisted towards the stove, causing her breasts to push forward against his chest. "What are you doing?" he asks, kissing her neck, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, his thumb circling around her nipple.

"Breakfast will burn."

"Let it."

And she gasps again, then giggles as he lifts her up, his hands beneath her bottom, and turns her round until she's sitting back on the kitchen table.

She holds onto his upper arms, "You know when we're in our new house we'll have a whole host of new places to make love in."

"We haven't made love in every spot in this flat, we should definitely do that before we move out." His hands have pushed her dress up out of the way, the material bunching around her bottom.

"Oh really?"

She doesn't mind as he pulls her forward, lifting her legs around his hips, tilting her slightly to get the right angle. They're both giggling like children.

"Really."

And then their mouths meet and all thoughts of breakfast and work disappear. She likes these moments, spontaneous moments of passion when he has to have her. And he's got her bent back on the table and is pounding inside her so deliciously her body can hardly take it. She holds onto him – her head back, mouth open as she moans her pleasure and encouragement.

"God what you do to me," she hears him gasp; one hand firm on her back, the other flat on the table to support himself, if she leans her head back far enough her hair brushes his hand as they move together.

"You feel so good," she breathes, gasps his name, pulls herself forward to hold onto him, hands looping over his shoulders to support herself as she lets her hips grind against him, driving him deeper insider her. "Oh honey, don't stop… don't stop…"

His mouth finds hers again, hungry to taste her; he'd let her consume him if he could. The table is scraping and banging beneath them and it's probably that which drives him over the edge and in seconds her name falls from his mouth and he spills himself inside her. He does his best to maintain some sort of rhythm until he feels her nails dig into his backside and her body reach its sweet climax around him.

And then she's giggling again and he has a lopsided grin on a very flushed face. She's still holding onto him, her legs wrapped tight around his body, and his nose nudges hers until she shifts her face to kiss him.

"Love you," he whispers.

Her hand slides up from the back of his neck to tangle in the short curls of his hair, "Love you too."

She throws the eggs away and starts again, blaming him for the waste, and he showers and dresses as she makes the second batch of breakfast.

When she sits across from him at the table he's chuckling like a schoolboy and spreading out his paper.

"You can stop that," she says, pouring the tea.

"I do hope you washed the table down darling."

She swipes at him with the dishcloth, "Eat your eggs."

"What are you doing today?" He asks, grinding pepper over his breakfast.

"It's my counselling session at 10:00, I figured I'd move it during the summer, may as well get it over with then go out with Anna and Beryl to cheer myself up."

"Going anywhere nice?"

"Party planning," she smiled, twisting in her seat. "Only this week to go."

"Roll on Saturday. You're sure you don't want me to do anything, I feel I've written a cheque and that's it."

"Just rehearse your karaoke song."

"There's no way I'm getting up to sing."

"If I have to do it then you have to do it." She gets up, sliding her hands down over his shoulders, whispering by his ear, "Or there'll be no intimate celebrations when we're on our own."

"Seems a harsh judgement Els…"

She kisses his cheek, her fingers moving over his chest, "Oh but I'll make it worth your while."

"Mmm, I believe that. Where are you meeting them?"

"They're coming here, I said I'd pick them up. I'm going to drive out to the house too, I want to show Anna. You don't mind?"

"Of course not. Any more news?"

"Some more searches back, the solicitor assures me everything is ticking away as it should."

He pushed his breakfast plate away, "I feel I'm not doing anything. You're handling the engagement, the house, all the legal stuff."

"I'm a born organiser… unless you feel I'm taking over?" She said, taking his dishes to the sink.

"Of course not. I don't want you to feel I'm being lazy."

"As if, I'm off work for the summer, I need things to occupy me."

"Come here and occupy me."

With a lopsided smile on her face she threw aside the dishcloth and sauntered towards him, slipping onto his lap, her hands looping behind his neck.

"Yes?"

"Do you know how incredibly beautiful you are?"

"Tell me," she grinned, playful.

"Very," he kissed her neck, "very, very, very…" he covered her neck and chest in kisses, beneath her chin, his fingers tickling her waist – sweet torture as she giggled and twisted at his touch.

She held his face, delighted by the joy she saw there, "I have to get ready and you have to go downstairs to work."

His hands slid down her back, and he pressed his fingertips against her, "I hope it's okay… this morning."

She raised and lowered her shoulders, "It is what it is. At least I have you to come back to."

He smiled, letting her get up from his lap and return to the tidying their dishes.

* * *

Charles was mid-way through wrapping an order when Isobel came to visit. She looked sheepish as she pushed open the door, the bell above it jangling, and glanced around the empty shop.

"What are you doing in town so early?" He asked, coming around the counter and kissing her cheek.

"Dentist's appointment, figured I'd drop in and see how you are."

"That's nice, would you like some tea?"

"Sure." She followed him through to the small coffee shop section, taking a seat and watching him make up a tray. "This is lovely you know Charles."

"You approve?"

"Very much so, and it's proving popular I hear?"

"Yes. Thankfully, otherwise the cost would have been a waste." He placed the tray in front of her – a traditional china cup, a small tea pot, two biscuits on the side plate.

"You usually only get one," he said, "but as we're friends."

"Home made too." She noted, pouring her tea.

"Of course; these are Elsie's shortbread though, not mine, she made them Saturday, so afraid I can't take the credit."

She bit into one, "Goodness, they're very good."

"I keep telling her she can cook…" the bell on the shop door interrupted him. "Just be a minute."

When he returned Isobel had eaten both biscuits and was reading the copy of The Times he'd left in there.

"This is a good idea too," she said, "to provide newspapers."

"Now, that was Anna's suggestion."

She nodded thoughtfully, "Nice touch." She folded the paper closed. "You have yourself a family Charles."

He sat down, surprised by the softness of his voice, the certainty of it. "I do. Finally." He reached to touch her hand, "That's not to say you and Richard aren't still my family, goodness knows we've been friends too long for it to disappear."

"I know." She shrugged, shaking her head; "I fear I upset Elsie the other night. I forget myself, ask too many questions, take over."

"We all have to get used to things. Believe me I'm still getting used to it," he smiled, "But I love every second."

She squeezed his hand in return, "Good. I am happy, to see you so happy I mean."

They were still holding hands when Elsie came in through the back door, pale and distracted as she always was after an hour in her therapist's company. She caught herself when she saw them there, stopping by the door, her bag slipping from her shoulder to land heavily on her wrist.

"Darling," he smiled, getting up, moving to grip her upper arms and kiss her cheek. "Did it go okay?" he whispered by her ear and she gave him a slight nod.

"Morning Isobel," she said, shaking off the dark thoughts that had travelled home with her.

"Good morning Elsie, you look very nice. I really like that dress."

"Thank you, I got it in Italy."

"Beautiful colour, very summery. And your shortbread was simply gorgeous…"

Charles saw the confusion passing over Elsie's face, though she hid it as quickly as it appeared; poor Isobel, over compensating really did her no favours neither.

"Are you doing anything nice today?"

"Erm, going to the party venue and just to get a few last minute things for Saturday. Make sure all is on track."

"On your own?"

"With my daughter and my friend."

"I'm looking forward to meeting your daughter – will she be there Saturday?"

"She will indeed, no doubt looking stunning."

"As will you," Charles assured her, taking Isobel's tray from the table and over to the sink behind her.

"We'll probably go for lunch first." Elsie added, glancing at her watch, "they should be here soon actually."

"Going somewhere lovely?"

"We haven't decided…" she bit her bottom lip, the question weighing heavily as she turned it over momentarily in her mind. "You can join us, if you like."

Charles watched her, keenly aware of the effort the offer cost.

Isobel swallowed, her voice quieter, "I'd like that very much."

"Thank you," Charles mouthed over Isobel's head.

"Good, I'll just go freshen up my make-up then we can go."

* * *

Elsie had chosen Rudding Park for the party, hiring the Jupiter Room – in her mind it would make the perfect venue for their wedding and it didn't harm to test it out first. If they married there guests could stay for the weekend, enjoy the golf or spa treatments, they could marry in the chapel and not have to travel. Charles had his heart set on his church but perhaps if he saw other options they'd discuss it.

She'd booked a room for them to spend the night in following the party, though he didn't know about that, in fact most of what she'd planned would be a surprise. Buffet food and then a late night supper, outdoor karaoke, fireworks – she figured if Isobel could host extravagance then she could too.

"You don't think you're going overboard do you mum?" Anna teased as they walked the driveway to the venue. "Gold balloons lining the entrance."

"Don't forget the candles." Beryl added with a snigger.

A metre in front of them Elsie turned glaring, her hands on her hips. "I want it to be special, one doesn't have an engagement party every day. And besides that, it's Charles' birthday, the first one with us properly together, last year I only got him a card, I want this one to be memorable."

"It'll be that alright." Beryl said glancing around the fancy gardens.

"I think it's lovely here Elsie," Isobel said, swinging her handbag as she made her way farther up the driveway. "I think he'll love it."

"No doubt he'll love it," Anna teased, moving behind Elsie and standing on her tiptoes so she could rest her hands heavily on her shoulders. "Because mummy did it, and he loves everything she does."

"Perhaps some things more than others."

"Beryl!" Elsie shushed, whacking her with her handbag.

"Ow. That hurt."

"Then behave." She paused, staring up at the building, "Do you think I've really gone too over-the-top? It is only an engagement party after all."

"Nonsense." Isobel insisted. "It will be wonderful. And it's more than just an engagement party, believe me, he's waited a very long time to have a moment like this, I'm all for it."

"Thank you Isobel," Elsie smiled turning to the other two, "see, it's fine. Now let's go see the room and check on layout."

"Perhaps we should take afternoon tea here," Isobel suggested, "instead of going elsewhere for lunch… That is of course, if you haven't already arranged anything Elsie."

"No." she said softly, ignoring Beryl's quizzical look at the exchange, "No that's a good idea. Perhaps you could ask about it whilst I show Anna the venue."

"Of course."

* * *

"So, I wanted to tell you something." Anna said to her mother's back, watching as she made her way around the tables laid out in the room.

Elsie dropped the napkins she was looking at, her throat tightening, good god she didn't want to hear the words, 'Pregnant' or 'Engaged' passing Anna's lips. Or 'moving in together' neither, come to think of it.

"I saw Dad."

Nor that.

She turned slowly, "Oh."

"That's it?"

Elsie shrugged, "I don't know what else to say, I knew you would in time, he's your father, you should see him."

"He isn't a good man mum, I do know that, I'm not stupid."

"Far from it." She started moving around the room, glancing at place settings.

"Mum, we do need to talk about this."

"Let's talk about whether you think it's completely ridiculous of me to have this karaoke thing instead, that's a more comfortable chat."

"We've never really faced it, and I think we need to." She said forcefully.

"Here though, Anna, really?" She said, finally turning to face her, her cheeks burning.

Anna bit her lip, one hand resting on the back of a chair and squeezing and Elsie realised how like her she was starting to look, as she got older the closer they seemed to become in likeness.

It was awkward and uncomfortable at times, admitting that your 'child' was no longer an adolescent. Anna was an adult, and she knew more than she and Elsie discussed. "Maybe we could go for a walk in the gardens." She suggested.

They left Isobel and Beryl having tea and cake on the patio and wandered off into the walled garden, admiring the roses for a while before they were far enough away from anybody to hear.

Elsie stopped by a bench that sat at the top of a grassy bank, "Here?" She suggested, indicating it with her hand.

"Sure."

They sat down; Elsie leant back, fiddling with the contents of her handbag, Anna sat forward, her hands resting on her knees.

"I know what he used to do mum."

Elsie breathed deeply, her heart pounding in her chest, she knew it was time they had this talk, it was years overdue, but that didn't make it any easier.

Still, despite how difficult the counselling had been it was getting better, she was getting better. And facing up to things she'd rather bury was healthier than pretending it never existed.

"I'm assuming you're referring to the fact your father used to rape me…" She said, as quick as ripping off a band aid.

Anna sucked in a tight breath and leant even further forward, burying her head in her hands and then Elsie's heart broke as she heard the unmistakeable sound of sobbing.

"Oh sweetheart," she placed her hand on her back, chewing on her bottom lip to stop herself from dissolving in tears too. "Please don't."

Anna moved slightly, lifted her head up a little and Elsie took the opportunity to draw her body to her, pressing her head against her chest and cradling her as she kissed her hair. "Please don't cry, it's over now and he's not worth it, I don't want you to cry over it."

"I didn't help." Anna mumbled against her mum's jacket. "I'm so sorry for that."

"Baby," she pushed her back, the parallels of her feelings towards her own mother startling to her. "You must never, ever think that. You were a child and you didn't understand, for goodness sake I was an adult, your mother, and I didn't understand. I should have been the one protecting you from all that." She felt her eyes filling up as she looked at her daughter, remembering that timid little thing dancing in the living room, and being a child herself and wanting so very much for her mother to have the courage to walk away.

"My relationship with your father is so very complicated, for many reasons, the physical element of it just one bit. But I am sorry you grew up in a house where things were never just straightforward and happy."

"I was happy. I had a very happy childhood, thanks to you, and despite what was happening," she hiccupped, gripping her mother's hands. "I always felt so secure and safe, you gave me…" she hiccupped again, "a really solid grounding."

"Thank you for saying that." She pulled her to her again and kissed her forehead. "It's not easy to just apportion blame though, I don't think it's that clear cut."

"It is to me," Anna said forcefully. "I hate him for it."

"As much as I could celebrate that fact he is still your father."

"Yes. And I'm struggling with that."

"Maybe… maybe it would help for us to have a session together, you could come to one of mine and we could talk things through with the counsellor."

Anna nodded. "Okay. But I don't want to be talked at with bullshit phrases about forgiveness and moving on."

Elsie smiled, brushing Anna's fringe out of her eyes. "Alright." She paused, licked her lips, Anna still snuffling. "What happened? When you saw him?"

She sighed, "Sarah lost the baby. They're back together but that's the third miscarriage and… I guess he wanted me to know."

"That's terrible. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even Joe."

"That's because you're kind."

"Sometimes."

"I'm so glad you've met Charles, have I told you that? Because he's such a good man."

"I know. I realise how lucky I am." She rubbed her arms, noting the shiver passing over her as they sat there. "You know he adores you too don't you. I think he's already beginning to see you like a daughter. Would you mind that?"

"Of course not. He's lovely. And I'm so grateful to him for this job and… well, you'll hate it, but for John too." She noted Elsie's strained expression. "I know you hate the idea of it, but he is great mum, he's being lovely to me. I really feel this is going to be something serious."

Anna moved slightly, resting her head against Elsie's arm, the last time they'd snuggled together it had been in Elsie's bed in the old apartment following their meal with Charles – the first time Anna had met him. She remembered how sad her mum had been that night, how lost, it struck her then that at any age you can still struggle to find your way and realise what's the best path to take.

"You deserve to be happy with Charles mum," she said gently, her voice somewhat muffled against Elsie's jacket. "And as much as I joked this is a lovely place and he will love the party."

"Thank you," she kissed Anna's head. "I suppose you'd like to bring John with you."

"I would, but I won't if it'll upset things. We're only just dating, it's still early I know, but I feel more for him than any previous boyfriend."

It surprised her that she already thought of it as her 'boyfriend', that things seemed to be progressing so fast. "I don't know the man so I can't hate him I just don't want you to rush into something you'll later regret."

"Like you did, you mean."

She sighed – yes exactly like that. "Sweetheart, my childhood wasn't easy."

"I know. The bits you've told me about it, your Dad was controlling wasn't he?"

She closed her eyes, flashes of images of her parents, of herself – what a day is was turning out to be. "Anna there's a reason you never met either of your Grandparents, a reason I didn't want anything to do with them. That's hard for me to admit to you, to talk about, you see my father used to beat my mother, quite badly and I knew. And I couldn't do anything to stop it."

As she opened her eyes again, the brightness of the early afternoon sun seemed blinding and she blinked against the light. There was a dull buzzing in her ears, her own blood beating so fast, so loud. The relevance of 'couldn't' as opposed to 'didn't' seemed of such magnitude.

She felt Anna's hand squeeze her waist holding her tighter. The buzzing in her ears died down as she breathed and she tilted her head back to let the sun caress her face, the light breeze in the trees behind them, the rustling of green leaves and pink rhododendrons above her.

"I think that's why I married your dad. In fact," she lifted her head forward again, glancing down at where her daughter was pressed against her. "I know it's why I married him. He promised me an escape from that rigid, terrifying world. He was the only person I'd ever told about it, the first time I'd spoken of it to anybody and somehow that gave him power over me..."

"But I know now." Anna said reassuringly.

"And Charles. And he's helped me so much; I have dreams…" she didn't want to go into detail about it, not here, not with the beauty of this English garden around them. "He's always there, always listens."

"I'm glad."

"But I don't want you to think that's why I'm marrying him, that I'm lurching from one crutch to another."

"Mum, of course I don't think that." Anna sat up, brushing her tears away, looking at her mum's calm face. "I can see how well suited you are."

"You see darling I don't want the cycle repeated, my mother had a miserable life because she chose the wrong man, so did I, thirty years of it, I'm only now finding that life doesn't have to be all doom and gloom and living on your nerves. I want you to make the right choice."

"I'm not going to rush into marriage mum. And dating John doesn't mean I've forgotten what I want. I still want a career, I'm still applying for positions."

"I'm so very proud of you."

"I know, you've told me that all my life."

"Well I am, whatever you do, whether it's getting your masters or mastering the art of colouring inside the lines."

Anna giggled. "I'm guessing I got that one quite early on?"

"By about six you were perfect at it." She smiled warmly, filled with such deep love for her child. "Even though this hasn't been a particularly pleasant conversation it was about time we had it."

Anna nodded, rubbing her eyes again, "I think we should go have a drink."

"Me too. In fact let's have champagne, we never did get to toast my engagement together." She rolled her eyes and Anna blushed.

"Oh god don't remind me of that night," she moaned getting to her feet, "mortifying."

* * *

Beryl and Isobel were chatting animatedly as they returned to them, holding hands and smiling.

"All okay?" Beryl asked, glancing at her friend's face.

"Yes, all okay." Elsie assured her. "We thought we'd spoil ourselves and order champagne."

"Oh let me get it," Isobel offered, already digging in her bag for her purse. "Please, I do so want to apologise to you for the other night."

As Elsie took the seat across from her she felt her expression change into surprise and did her best to cover it quickly.

"I know I was rude," Isobel offered, "And I know I'm nosey, Richard tells me all the time, and I'm protective of Charles and I'm sure I'll do or say something again that's uncalled for… but I don't mean it to be nasty, really. So let me get it."

Elsie nodded and Isobel got up, heading inside to find the bar.

"So, are there sandwiches left for us?" Anna asked.

"The salmon ones are lovely." Beryl added, reaching to where Elsie's hand lay on the table and squeezing it. "You okay love?"

"Yes, a day of revelations it seems. But I'm fine."

"Good. Then dig in, eat something. And tell us about this karaoke, should I prepare a song?"

"Of course," she smiled, placing finger sandwiches onto her plate. "In fact more than one might be nice."

"Maybe we could duet." Beryl suggested, selecting a cake from the display.

"Maybe we could do a girl group thing," Anna laughed. "You'd have to be Ginger Spice though Aunty Beryl."

"I do have the boobs for it."

They were all laughing as Isobel returned followed by a waiter with champagne and four glasses.

"What's so funny?" She asked as he poured.

"We're talking about the karaoke at the party." Anna said.

"Oh, I love karaoke!" She exclaimed, "I've wanted to have one at the games nights for years."

"I think I remember Charles mentioning that."

"Such great fun, what will you sing?"

"I have one song lined up to sing to Charles, but that's a surprise. Other than that I will just see where the night takes me."

"We must do 'I will survive'," Isobel said, lifting her champagne glass, "it's such a great song."

"Empowering women." Anna said, glancing at Elsie. "Let's have a toast, to my wonderful mother on finding the love her life and becoming Mrs Carson."

They all knocked their glasses together and took a drink.

"You know I was wandering around the shops in town the other day and I was in this little jewellery shop, just local made things, nothing extravagant. And there was this silver bangle with an inscription on it – it said, 'I met a man who stole my heart and changed my name to Mrs.' And as I was standing there holding it I thought, there would have been a time I would have hated the implication of that statement, the idea of ownership, but now I find it endearingly sweet."

"Did you buy it?" Isobel asked.

"No. I'm not Mrs yet, I didn't want to jump the gun."

"Oh I don't think there's any danger of him changing his mind." Beryl chuckled, "Not with the hold you have over him."

"Now don't start that again, you make me out some sort of vixen."

"I'm just saying, Charlie is enamoured. I bet he's never had a sex life like it!"

Anna laughed, and Elsie blushed, shushing Beryl, "Stop it," she indicated Isobel with her chin, "you're embarrassing me."

"Oh come on Mum, we all know it's a very healthy part of any relationship. It's just that luckily for you too it works quite well."

"Anna!" She looked across the table to Isobel, "I'm so sorry about them, there is more to mine and Charles' relationship than sex."

"Don't worry about it," She smiled, "I don't think Richard and I got out of bed for the first five years of our marriage, hence my having four children."

They're all laughing again as Isobel refills their champagne glasses.

* * *

When Charles wearily closed the shop for the day and made his way upstairs he could smell roast chicken coming from the kitchen and it made him smile. Elsie had come home a few hours earlier slightly tipsy but smiling – she'd had to leave the car at the party venue (which amused him no end) after consuming one too many glasses of wine. And Bill had picked them all up and dropped them home.

Getting himself a glass of lemonade he followed the sound of her singing – she was in the shower and he eased open the bathroom door and leant back against it listening as she merged from one song to the other, seamlessly.

'_Love soft as an easy chair; love fresh as the morning air. One love that is shared by two, I have found with you.'_

He smiled, her voice was clear and strong, and she sounded happy. She paused, as she turned beneath the water, suds dripping down her back.

_'You and I will make each night first, every day a beginning.'_

He wondered briefly if this was her karaoke song, if he'd interrupted her rehearsal, she'd be upset if he heard it before the night. He put down his empty glass and began to take off his shirt.

_'Time we've learned to sail above, time wont change the meaning of, one love…'_

By the time she was breathing for the last note Charles was opening the cubicle door and sliding his hand down her back. Far from being shocked at the intrusion she leant back against him, finishing the song,_ '…ageless and ever, ever green.'_

He kissed the side of her face, until she twisted her neck and moved her mouth to meet his.

"Tell me I just didn't spoil a surprise."

"No. Just warming up."

"Good." He moved his mouth over her neck, across her shoulder blades.

"I do hope you've been rehearsing though, I'm getting very excited."

"Mmm, so am I," he said squeezing her bottom.

"Not about that," she slapped at his hands, turning and letting him enfold her in his arms. "The venue looks beautiful and the girls seemed to like it."

"The girls? Are we a group now?"

"We were today."

"And it went well?"

"All is fine with Isobel, if that's what you're wondering. She was very nice, even apologised and bought champagne."

"Sounds like Izzy."

She looped her hands around his neck, swaying against him, "Interesting chat with Anna though." She breathed deeply, remembering, "She saw Joe."

"Oh?"

"That's what I said. He's with Sarah again but she lost the baby, it's their third miscarriage."

"That's awful for her."

"I said that too." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "But Anna asked me about… well, we spoke of what happened between her father and myself."

"How so?"

She pressed her face against his chest, feeling the warm water cascade around them.

"It's the first time we've openly discussed the fact he raped me, in fact I think it was probably the first time I've used the word outside of the counselling room."

He closed his eyes, resting his chin on her head, in an odd way grateful.

"And how did she react?"

"Tears. Cuddling. She already knew, in a way, I think she'd always suspected. But I'm glad it's out in the open now, as horrible as it was." She pulled back to look at him again, "I think she might come to one of my sessions."

"That sounds a good idea."

"And then we spoke of the party and cheered ourselves up with alcohol and cake."

He smiled, "Will John be joining us?"

Elsie sighed, glancing up at him, "Of course Anna wants him to come, but she also phrased it by saying she'd leave him at home if it upset me – so really I have little choice but for him to come. And he is your brother after all."

"He is. Though Richard is closer."

"Families are a messy business."

"They are indeed. Good job we're in the shower."

"Ha, ha."

"How long until that chicken's done?"

She smirked, twisting her mouth to one side, "An hour or so, why?"

* * *

As out-of-place as it was she couldn't help but think of Beryl as she straddled Charles in their bed, watching his wide-eyed joyful expression, vixen indeed!

Pushing the thought away she leant forward to kiss him, feeling his eager hands cup her breasts, massaging, palms sliding over her sensitive nipples. He groaned deeply as she rolled her hips back, leaning back to give herself a better angle, her knees pressing against the bed.

Her body rose up and then slowly back down and he gasped sharply, gripping her legs, a slow smile on his face. She was too good at this.

"Should I stop?" she whispered naughtily, leaning forward, her forehead to his.

"Never."

She took her time, driving him to the point of climax and then stopping, deliberately slowing things down until he was panting and calling out her name as he begged for release.

"God you're good," his heart swelled with the sweet torture of it. "So very good for me."

"For you, or to you?" She asked as she kissed his chest.

"In every way." He slid his hands into her damp hair, lifting her face to his, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks. "And so beautiful too."

She smiled, eyes sparkling, lifting her body until he slipped out of her and his brow furrowed momentarily at the loss of her touch.

But then she was moving to the side of him and encouraging him on top of her, her thighs parting eagerly around him, legs hooked over his hips as he drove inside her.

After, he lay behind her, holding her, eyes closed – content and on the verge of sleep. And then he realised she was crying, silent tears spilling down her face, muffled sobs, and he didn't know why. It scared him, and he sat up, leaning over her, "Elsie," he said, his voice wavering. "Els, darling… Did I hurt you?"

She was shaking her head and smiling through her tears, her hands coming to rest on his. "No, you never could."

He kissed her head, her face, "My darling Elspeth…"

She flopped onto her back again, wrapped her arms around him, crying openly now, letting the sobs shake through her body as she held onto him.

He let her cry, holding her to him, waiting until she was free of it. Weeks of restraint and tension coming free, untangling. She should have cried that night, when she'd finally confronted her ex-husband and cut the shackles. She should have cried during her counselling sessions. She should have cried with Anna.

But she hadn't. She wouldn't. Couldn't.

But now – there with him loving her, so close and intimate and secure, she let go.

* * *

**Four Years Ago**

Settling herself down on the sofa Elsie curled her legs beneath her and pulled the blanket over them.

A Saturday night in February, there'd been heavy snowfall a few days earlier, and she had her wine, snacks and Out of Africa in the DVD player, ready to escape into a world dominated by Streep and sunshine.

She was only twenty minutes into the movie when Joe came home. Wet and exhausted from working on the farm. He trudged around the kitchen and she paused the film, getting up and going through to him.

"Do you want me to get you something to eat?" She asked gently. He looked exhausted and she felt protective of him, still, after all those years. "A sandwich?"

He seemed to see her for the first time in a while, and nodded as he slipped into a chair by the table, watching her as she opened the fridge and dug out what she'd need.

He'd lost crops that winter, heavy rains leading up to Christmas and now frost and snow. He was worried, she knew that, and his concerns made him almost vulnerable.

"You look good, I mean, you hair, going lighter suits you."

She scraped butter across his bread. "Thank you." He hadn't paid her a compliment in many, many years. "You want mustard?"

"Yes please." She heard him get up, open the fridge and take out a beer. "We heard from Anna?"

"Just a text, I'm sure she's fine, the University are quite good about checking on their students wellbeing. I've told her not to drive home this weekend though, leave it a week or so."

"Good idea."

She placed the plate in front of him. "You want anything else?"

"No, that's good thanks. What are you up to?"

"Watching a movie, I didn't expect you home…" She said, they both knew what it meant, he had clearly been seeing someone for a while now and most nights didn't even come home.

She left him to eat when he didn't respond and returned to her film.

Halfway through it he came in to the dark, warm room, smelling fresh from a bath, and slipped onto the bottom of the sofa to watch with her. She shifted her feet to make room but he lifted them into his lap and for a while rubbed her heels.

It had been a long time since he'd touched her – in any way – and even longer since he'd touched her with any ounce of gentleness. Her body remembered it, those early years of marriage where being together was treated with reverence, though her mind struggled to understand why.

The room seemed still and as if it had closed in on them, cradling them in the warmth it held against the frozen earth outside.

In time she got up for the bathroom and when she returned he was lying down, his eyes closed, one arm folded beneath his head. She had little choice than to either lie with him or take the chair. So she squashed beside him, feeling his arm drape over her waist, the blanket being pulled over her legs.

When he kissed her she was surprised. Kissing was a thing of the past. She'd forgotten it even existed; sex with him had been just the act of it for so many years. The touch of his lips, his tongue caressing hers, it was almost like dating again, like being seduced again – and her body enjoyed it, for the first time in so very long.

His back was pressed against the back of the couch and her body pressed against his; her knee sneaking between his legs, his hands trailing down her back, gathering up her dressing gown in his fingers, exposing her skin inch by inch.

"Joe," she suddenly breathed against his lips.

"Mm…" He breathed huskily.

"I just," she moaned as his fingers moved over her breast, his palms feather light over her nipples.

"What is it?" He whispered.

"I know," she placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back slightly so he was forced to stop kissing her. "I don't want this to sound awkward, or like I'm nagging…"

His brow furrowed, "But?"

"But I also know what's being going on, well, for years now…the other women. I'm not trying to start some kind of confrontation over that and right now I do want to make love to you… But I'd prefer it if we used protection…"

Her words seemed to quell any passion he'd found for her.

For several moments he stared at her and as the seconds ticked by she worried what was to come. She worried she'd gone too far and soon the gentle caress they'd just shared would be forgotten and replaced by force and domination.

But no. He simply let go of her body and slipped out of her embrace, getting up from the couch and leaving her lying there alone. Confused and cold.

Three weeks later he left her, telling her Sarah was pregnant.

Sometimes she wonders, if that woman hadn't fallen pregnant would she still be living that life of lies?

* * *

_I promise - party time in the next chapter!_


	32. Chapter 32

_Gotta start with an apology - I promised the 'party' but I got really into writing Charles' birthday that I thought it deserved a chapter to itself. So the engagement party will be next time - hope you forgive me... and Dee, I hope you forgive me too! xx._

**Chapter 32**

**Eight Years Ago**

Lying alone in the bed Charles couldn't help but judge the décor – lilac walls, some hideously designed wallpaper on the far one and a bookcase with old teddy bears lined across the top of it.

Hard to believe he had just had sex with this woman. This forty-two year old woman. And average sex at that. And that's how she decorated her bedroom.

Sometimes he wonders how he gets himself into these positions. He'd been on six dates with her, six tolerable dates, and he'd known since date two she wasn't for him – they hardly had shared interests, she babbled on non-stop about every topic under the sun and the more she said the less interested he became. It wasn't that she wasn't a nice woman, she was a very nice lady, but he just couldn't find any real passion for her. Which was ironic really, considering where he now was.

She was blonde, petite, well-educated. Just not for him. And now he seemed to have got himself into an even worse mess by going to bed with her. He knew it was entirely his fault. She'd invited him for a drink, he'd said yes, they'd kissed on the couch and then hormones had taken over and here he was. Feeling like he was in fully-fledged relationship with a woman who seemed to aggravate him the longer he spent with her.

And he'd meant to end it tonight. Let her down easy.

"Here we are," she said, coming into the room with two glasses of Prosecco – he hated the fizzy stuff, gave him indigestion.

"Thanks Dee," he pulled himself into a sitting position and took the glass from her.

As she settled in beside him, pressing her head against his shoulder, he wondered how much longer he'd have to stay – could he get away with an hour then make his excuses, or would this be an all-nighter and then the awkward conversation the following morning?

"It's really nice to have you here," she said, swirling the wine in her glass. "Nice not to be alone."

Lord knows he knew what that felt like. He'd been alone long enough to understand where she was coming from – loneliness, he had decided many years ago, was the most terrible affliction you could suffer from. There was no chemist to buy medication; no doctor to seek medical help; only yourself and your own internal battle – get out there, meet people – good advice, but not if you didn't know where to start or what you were looking for.

He drank his wine down in one.

Maybe this is what the majority of people did, they settled. Maybe not all married couples could be as perfectly suited as Richard and Isobel, maybe some people just found someone who didn't detest them and get a ring on the finger to seal the deal before they found themselves alone again.

Perhaps he was the one in the wrong – continuously searching for more. Possibly he had to just 'settle'.

* * *

The phrase 'rolling about with laughter' seemed to have been made for Richard as he delighted in Charles' embarrassment.

"Bloody hell, you're going to be fifty years old next week and you're fumbling about with some woman who takes teddy bears to bed."

"She didn't actually bring them to bed."

"No, maybe not, but then she had this teddy bear instead didn't she." He teased, prodding Charles' belly.

"Quit it, I don't need reminding of my expanding waistline thanks very much." He took a swig of his beer. "It's not the teddy bears that bother me, it's how I'm going to break it off now without coming across as a complete bastard."

"You lothario."

Charles rolled his eyes; "In my defence it's been two years since I'd even got close to having sex so forgive me if my body took over."

"You bringing her to the party next week?"

"I don't know. I don't really want to, that'll just convince her we're meant to be. I feel like I'm the last chance saloon guy. Which is awful to say."

"You do get yourself into some shit."

"Just because you hit a home run on the first attempt."

Richard nodded, "Very true. Is there nobody else you like?"

"Hmm, not really." He glanced down at the dregs of beer in his glass, swirling it around.

"I saw that look, someone you've got your eye on?"

"No. There isn't. Really." He emptied his glass. "Drink up and I'll get us another."

"You fancy someone."

"It's silly. Just a customer I like."

Richard's eyes widened and he leant across the table towards his friend, "Now we're talking, go on."

"Nothing will come of it, she's married." Charles dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Oh. Let down."

"Isn't it? She's been coming into the shop for years."

"And you like her?"

Charles shrugged, looking into his glass again, then smiled. "Yes, I like her. She's funny. She talks to me. You know how I struggle to make 'first contact' with women; I didn't feel like that with her. I feel at ease with her, I just need to find that with a single woman now."

"What a shame."

"It is. Her I_ would_ bring to the party."

"Don't let Isobel know you know by the way, she'll kill me for ruining the surprise."

"As if I wouldn't suspect a surprise party for my fiftieth."

"She'll be disappointed you know, your turning up without a lady on your arm."

"Maybe. But it is the story of my life."

* * *

Rushing to the shop door eager to be out of the rain Elsie twisted the handle and pushed the door only to clumsily bang her shoulder into it and bounce back after making contact with the glass.

She was rubbing her arm and trying to hide her rather flushed cheeks when the door opened in front of her and she fell into the man holding it open.

"I'm so sorry," they said in unison.

She laughed.

He smiled.

"Sorry, come inside out of the rain."

"Thank you," she shook off the excess water from her jacket. "Summer shower. I thought I'd come here and wait it out, have a read." She glanced around. "Are you closed?"

"Yes. Sorry. I closed early today."

"Oh. Any particular reason?"

"Well, I er… It's my birthday."

"Is it? Goodness I am sorry, and I've interrupted you."

"I was just cashing up, and then going for a shower, having a meal with friends tonight."

"That's lovely."

"Yes. I had a surprise party last Saturday. Only it wasn't a surprise. Because I knew." He jabbered on, aware of his own awkward demeanour.

"That's even better, is it a special birthday?"

"Fifty."

"Wow, congratulations."

He chuckled, "You're not going to tell me I don't look fifty or that I'm young for my age?"

For a moment she bit her lip, eyes narrow as she tried to work out whether he was joking or not.

"I can say that," she finally said, "if you'd like me too. But then you'll have to return the favour."

He laughed at that, holding out his hand, "Deal."

She took it and shook his hand with hers, surprised at the warmth of his palm. "Deal. Though that does mean you have to keep your store going for at least another seven years."

"My, you _don't_ look forty-three!"

She giggled at his quick-thinking.

"And you have to be a customer for another seven years." He added, delighted at the joyful sound coming from her.

"Oh I think I can manage that. Well," she took her hand from his, pulling her handbag further up her arm. "I suppose I ought to go and let you get ready. I hope you have a very enjoyable evening."

"Thank you."

He seemed rooted to the spot as he watched her walk to the door, the shower had passed and the sunshine bright again outside.

"Oh," she glanced over her shoulder at him, "and Happy Birthday."

As she waved goodbye passing by the window he reflected on how right he was to break things off with Dee; yes it was hard being alone, but until he found someone who made his stomach lurch with just a simple wave of her hand then it was a far better option.

* * *

**Present Day**

Charles woke to the wondrous feeling of Elsie's mouth on his chest, her hands between his legs stroking him awake.

He lay there still and relatively silent, immersed in the feel of her giving him pleasure, and the mixture of pride and joy that came with knowing she was enjoying that. He let out a long sigh of enjoyment, the warm air passing over his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them, and her fingers sliding around his growing erection to cup his balls, stroking the delicate skin there, finding the right spot that made his erratic breathing slip into a full-throated moan.

Smiling she slid her body on top of his, rising up over his chest until she was nibbling on his chin and he was chuckling.

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and sucked gently and the sensation made him groan again.

There were things she knew about bringing men pleasure; Joe was in no way backwards about telling her what he liked and what she should do. With him he had always been a chore, felt almost shameful, but not with Charles – with him it brought her as much pleasure as it did him. To please the man she loved just as he pleased her.

"Happy Birthday," she whispered, dotting kisses across his chest. "My wonderful man."

A wide smile filled his face and he folded his arms beneath his head and slowly opened his eyes. He jerked beneath her when he spotted two giant balloons bobbing about at the side of the bed – a 'Happy Birthday' one and an elephant.

"What the bloody hell?"

She was laughing, pressing her hands on his shoulders to press him down.

"What's all this? Never woken up to balloons on my birthday."

"Never had me waking you up on your birthday before."

"Unfortunately not," he reached around her, sliding his hands down her spine, the silk of her nightgown shifting beneath his fingers as he reached to cup her bottom.

"So, breakfast first or presents?" She asked teasingly, wiggling against him.

"Can't I have this instead? Is this one of my presents?"

"One of? You think you're getting more than one?"

"If my present was just this…" he squeezed again. "…I'd be more than satisfied with it."

"Oh, you would, would you? I'd wish I'd known before I spent money."

He folded his arms around her again, pressing her body tight against his, "Do you know how many years I've woken up alone on my Birthday, lying her contemplating the fact another year of my life has gone by regardless and I've accomplished nothing more than I had the year before."

"Charles…"

"No, it's true. And now I wake up to you, and this wondrous feeling of completion."

"Sweetheart," she stroked his hair back, brushing her fingers through it.

"Terrible thing being lonely you know Els."

"I do know that honey, believe me. But you're not lonely now, nor will you be again."

"Thanks to you." He drew his hand into her hair, tilting his mouth up to meet his, nudging noses as they smiled and their lips melted together.

Then she was moving down his body again, and adrenaline shot through him at his understanding of her intentions. She took her time and he breathed deeply and slowly, committing to memory every single nuance of the moment.

"I'm fifty-eight today," he said to the room and he heard her smile, just as the sheets above him lifted and rustled, and the warmth of her breath danced over the tip of his penis.

"Darling…" he whispered, sliding a hand into her hair, feeling her tongue stroke around him and then down his length. "God, Elsie…"

"Mmm?" She hummed and the vibrations made his groin jerk against her.

"Don't stop." He grinned down at her, his hand reaching for her shoulder.

"I didn't intend to."

* * *

"I think I should return the favour." He said later, when he'd come down from his high and was lying breathless and sated beside her.

"It isn't my birthday."

"Oh believe me, I'll enjoy it as much as you will." He said, rolling over and already beginning to trail kisses over her stomach.

"Honey," she rested her hand on his back and squeezed over his shoulder blade. "Not a great time of the month for such activities."

"Oh," he stopped, looking up at her, his chin on her belly.

"But we'll leave it as a rain check."

"Absolutely." He kissed her stomach, moving back up her body until he reached her mouth. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Elsie dressed quickly, leaving Charles in the shower, and set about making breakfast.

She'd piled the birthday cards he'd received on the kitchen table and hid her presents in the hallway; she planned to spend the entire day spoiling him – so far, it appeared to be going well.

"Mmm, hello beautiful," he said, kissing her neck, arms snaking around her waist.

"Hello. Nice shower?"

"A-ha."

"How do you want your eggs?"

"How do you think?" His mouth was still working along her neck and shoulders.

"I thought so, you have to let me move and fill the kettle."

"Not yet."

"Charles, your bacon will burn."

He smiled, struggling to remember a time beyond childhood when someone made him breakfast simply because it was his birthday. "Did you agree to marry me?" he said playfully, and she twisted her head round to look at him.

"I think I might have yes."

"Hmm, how lucky am I?"

"Incredibly." She kissed him quickly, "Now go sit down and open your cards so I can finish this."

He did as she requested, standing them along the back of the kitchen table as he went.

"So, I have yet another treat for you today." She said as she served up the bacon. "We're going somewhere relaxing, just the two of us."

"Aren't I at work?" He said, balling the envelopes and tossing them into the recycling bin.

"No honey, it's your birthday, Anna can take care of the shop – she's already agreed. We're going to spend they day relaxing together... at a spa."

"A what?"

"A spa. And before you worry it's all nail polish and face masks there are plenty of other things to do – walking in the grounds, have a round of golf…" She dished up his eggs and put his breakfast in front of him. "Hire bikes if you wish." She sat down across from him, pouring the tea. "I've booked you in for a massage in the afternoon, well a couple's massage actually because how dull would it be if I just sat and watched!"

He laughed, "It sounds wonderful."

"You're okay with it? I don't want you to feel miserable and just do it for me."

"I can think of nothing better than going to this spa with you. Thank you for booking it, never done one before – and at my age it's good to find there are things I haven't done."

"You're not going to dwell on your age all day are you?" She asked buttering her toast.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "And dinner?" He asked. "Do we have that planned too?"

"Would you like to go out? I haven't booked anywhere, I thought it might be nice to just…"

"…Stay here and hide away?" He suggested.

"Yes." She sat across from him, "We could invite friends if you wanted."

"Nonsense. We'll be surrounded by people on Saturday, I'd rather just have you to myself."

"I'm completely at your disposal…" She teased, holding her arms open wide.

"Don't tempt me. The plan might be revised to spend the day with you tied to my bed."

"Tied?" she raised her eyebrows and glared, "_Really_?"

"You know what I mean." He put his fork down, "As always perfect eggs."

"Shifting the subject."

He grinned, settling back in his chair and pointing at his cards, "So, I er, I think I'm missing one."

"Oh really, if it's Anna she said hers would come with her."

"No." he folded his arms, "It's not Anna's."

"Alright. What do you want first?" She asked, dabbing her mouth on her napkin. "Card or presents?"

"Card. Let's do it right." He said rubbing his hands together.

Getting up she quickly went to the hall and returned with his card and a small box-shaped package; she handed him the card and placed the box on the table in front of him before sitting back down.

"Now," she said as he tore open the envelope. "I stole your idea of making a card, and I'll be embarrassed as you read it…"

He was nodding but not really paying attention to her words, then a tender smile crossed his face as he noted the picture of the two of them in Dubai.

Inside one side of the card was filled with her unmistakeable slanted handwriting.

"Wow Els, an essay."

"You don't have to read it now." She said nervously.

"Of course I do."

He scanned the words, slowing down after he'd read the first line and starting over.

'_Dearest Charles,_

_Remember some months ago I sent you a certain email… I spoke of how privileged I felt that you asked me out on a date and that I wished you every happiness. Who would have thought a couple of months down the line that happiness would be shared between us? That it would have grown to such an extent that I simply can't imagine life without you._

_I told you, back then, that I wasn't able to respond to you telling me you loved me, when now I embrace it so completely that I'm not certain of who I was before it. I've never known such total trust, respect and admiration in a relationship, let alone the friendship and overwhelming passion we share! In short I didn't know life could be like this._

_And so I thank you for all you've given me and wish you the happiest of birthdays, and the first of many to be celebrated together._

_All my love,_

_Els…Elsie…Elspeth (depending on your mood) xx'_

When he'd read it through twice he looked up at her over the top of his glasses, watching as she sipped her tea, kept her gaze from his as she put her cup down and pushed his present to him.

"So I got you this," she said.

He waggled the card in his hand, "We aren't to talk of this?"

"No. Just open your present."

"Els, this is…"

"If you say anything I'll cry, so open your present."

He put the card down, fully intending to return to that later and carefully opened the package, peeling sellotape from the end.

"Goodness Charles, just rip it open."

"No, this is quality paper, it could be re-used."

"You're quite the character." She reached for his empty plate, taking it to the sink out of the way.

"Woah, look at this, is this for the shop?"

"Well I suppose so, but it is for you too."

"Digital radio – moving with the times Mr Carson." He was reading the back of the box when she brought in the slightly larger present from the hall – a flat package wrapped in brown paper.

"A second present?" He asked.

"You did take me to Italy."

"Very true," he smiled up at her as she slid it to him. "So exciting. I feel like a kid." This time he did tear the paper off and revealed the exquisite painting of St Mark's.

"This is… Did you get this whilst we were away?"

She nodded, arms folded in front of her, delight on her face as he discovered the contents.

"How the hell did you get it back without me noticing?"

"Had it posted to Beryl's address. You like it?"

"I love it. It's wonderful." He stood up, lifting it up to rest on the table and look more closely at it.

"I thought it might look good in your new reading room."

He smiled at her, "Excellent idea."

"I'm full of them." She leant in close to kiss him, "You like your gifts?"

"They're perfect," he kissed her again, "and the sentiment in the card –,"

"Happy Birthday!" Anna shouted as she unlocked the flat door. "Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you…" She sang as she came into the kitchen, plonking a gift and a card on the table and pulling Charles into a hug. "Happy Birthday dear Mr Carson. Happy Birthday to you."

"Made more money than any other song in the world that has," he said, returning her hug.

Elsie watched them as she switched the kettle on again; he'd gone from such a private and restrained character to somebody freely hugging. It was wonderful to see.

"So, your pressie," Anna exclaimed, hanging it to him. "Have I missed breakfast?"

"You want some?" Elsie asked, rolling her eyes, but already setting up the pans on the hob again.

"Your mother only had toast," Charles pointed out as he carefully unpeeled the paper from the present.

"I have a tight outfit to get in on Saturday, I don't want to ruin it. And besides we'll be having something big for dinner."

"You know you look great mum," Anna said, plonking herself down at the table. "Really great."

"Thank you sweetheart."

"But then you've looked fabulous since you quit smoking."

"You used to smoke?!" Charles exclaimed, pausing in unwrapping his presents.

"Don't tell him that," Elsie said, hitting Anna's arm.

"How come you never told me you smoked, how come I never noticed?"

"It was only for a while. Helped me de-stress. Clearly I quit."

"She read an article about what it does to your lungs and quit the same day." Anna stated.

"Hmm, good job." Charles mumbled, finally opening the present.

Elsie rolled her eyes at Anna who blobbed her tongue out at her.

"Another picture…?" He asked, turning it over and studying it.

"I made it for you," Anna said leaning over the table to point things out. "Remember we had a chat weeks ago about your ten 'must read' books, so these are the original spines, I recreated them – I thought it would look good behind the counter."

Elsie watched as Charles ran his fingers over the display.

"You like it?" Anna asked and he slowly looked up at her, clearly choked.

"It's wonderful. So thoughtful." He glanced over to where Elsie stood, to her smile and then back to Anna's. "Goodness you two." He reached to squeeze Anna's hand and Elsie breathed deeply before going to hug him from behind.

"Happy Birthday," she whispered kissing his cheek.

* * *

They took a walk before their massages. The weather was fine but not too hot, and the grounds were lush with greenery and flowers. Charles held her hand, proud that now when he passed strangers they smiled at them as part of a couple, said 'Good morning' where in the past he might have been ignored.

He was proud that she looked so radiant. That their happiness was palpable.

"Oh look, I adore horses." Elsie said as they passed by a pair of chestnut foals grazing in a field.

She stopped, leaning against the fence to watch them.

"We had horses around the farm when I was a child, they weren't ours, my father rented out the surrounding lands where possible – he was actually quite a savvy businessman. We got to learn to ride for free."

"I haven't ridden since my University days, used to play a bit of polo."

"Did you really?"

"Yep. I was rubbish but I played. Richard of course was brilliant. I always preferred cricket."

"It's been years since I've been on a horse, I mean not since childhood. Look how beautiful they are."

"Would you like to ride again?"

"I think I'd be too afraid now."

"There are people at the club with horses, I could set it up."

"Let me think on it first."

They resumed their walk, turning away from the meadow and back to the gravelled path through the undergrowth and toward the hotel.

"You think we should get a dog, when we move?" Charles asked. "It's a big space, might be safer."

She wrinkled her nose, "I've never much been a fan of dogs. Do you want one?"

"Never really considered it before. The flat's too small so even having one for company seemed unlikely."

"They're very noisy though, or can be." She groaned. "I'll have to take some aspirin."

"You've got a headache?"

"No my stomach, cramping up."

"I have to admit, women's bodies are still a mystery to me…. Despite the fact I obviously worship yours."

She squeezed his hand, giggling. "I think you do okay, I'm sure there are many men out there who know even less. The sad truth is at my age the monthly cycle is not quite so 'monthly' anymore, they've become more erratic which means I'm rapidly approaching the dreaded menopause."

Charles knew two things about the menopause: that Isobel went through it early and started taking hormone treatment in her early forties. The second, that women went off sex. He prayed that wouldn't happen. He wasn't vain enough to think their sex life would last forever or that it was the 'be-all' of their relationship, but they'd only just discovered the joy of being together – he didn't want to lose it already.

"Have you spoken to a Doctor?"

"Yes. There's nothing surprising about it, just the natural way of things. Don't worry," she squeezed his hand again, tighter this time. "You'll know when it's happening because I'll no doubt be irritable and moaning about it to you. Sweating in bed and the like."

He chuckled, "I look forward to it. They joy of being married – in sickness and in health, isn't it?"

"Absolutely."

"Where've we got to go for these massages? I've a feeling I'll easily get lost in here."

"You and your sense of direction. Hang on, I'll get the leaflet from my bag and look. I must pee before we go in for the massage though."

"You and your bladder."

* * *

"Oh god, we've got to get one of these." Charles said as his body melted into the warm, welcoming water.

"Don't tell me you've never used a Jacuzzi before," Elsie watched him as she removed her robe and laid it over her bed, leaving her slippers there too.

He opened his eyes as he heard her climbing in to join him.

"You look unbelievable in that…" He said lowly, and she noted the darkening of his eyes.

"I've not worn a white swimsuit since I was a kid, they can be far too revealing. I saw it last week, tried it and figured it would work for today."

"Like a bridal swimsuit."

"Bride to be…" she smiled, sliding through the water to lean over his bent legs and kiss him. "You had fun so far?"

"Never been so relaxed."

"Good. That was the plan." She slipped onto the seat beside him.

"But we definitely have to get one of these." He said again. "I'm already figuring where it would go. It'd fit into that back corner in the garden."

"With this English weather, we'd use it five times a year max."

"Five blissful times a year." He lifted his arm around her. "Let's think about it."

"Let's get in the house first hey. I don't want to waste money before we even get there."

"Mmm, come here smoky Jo, let's have a cuddle."

"Oh bugger off! It was years ago." She hit his chest but still cuddled up against him.

He kissed her head, "Best birthday ever Els."

"Really?"

"Without question. I've got to admit I almost dropped off on that massage table."

"I noticed," she smiled, "your speech became slurred." She felt his hand slide over her thigh and squeeze, "Honey, you do realise this is a public Jacuzzi, not a private one."

"What I wouldn't give for a private one… you'd be losing that swimsuit that's for sure."

"Oh would I now?"

"My birthday, I should get my wishes." He said smugly.

"If you'd given me a list with plenty of preparation time I would have done my best to meet sir's demands."

She felt him nuzzle his nose against her hair, kissing the shell of her ear.

"Charles, there are other people here." She twisted her head slightly, kissing his smiling face. "Close your eyes and tilt your head back and nap for a while."

"Yes Mrs Hughes."

* * *

She made him steak for dinner, "A treat," she told him, believing too much red meat was bad for his heart. And homemade chunky chips and pepper sauce, which he smothered his dinner in. Which probably wasn't much better for his heart.

He poured red wine and laid the formal dining table, lighting candles and dimming the lights.

"To a pretty perfect birthday," he said, lifting his glass to hers as they sat down to eat.

"I'm very glad you've enjoyed it." She said, knocking her glass against his.

There was something nice about doing the ordinary things together – hanging the picture she'd got him in the hallway – Charles standing on one leg supporting it whilst Elsie told him whether it was straight or not. Then doing the dishes side-by-side in the kitchen.

"You want more wine?" She asked as she collected their glasses from the side.

"You know what, I fancy tea and chocolate and watching television."

"Fair enough. That wish I can meet." She rinsed the glasses. "Anna said Isobel rang by the way, you might call her."

"I will." He nudged her hip with his, "I think I'm turning into one of those awful people who abandons their friends when they fall in love."

"Oh no," she chuckled, "instead think of it as making more friends."

"Very true. I take it Beryl will be there on Saturday."

"Of course, I sent invites to as many people as I could think of. She'll be there and dancing the night away."

"With you?"

"And you I hope."

"You know I'm not much of a dancer."

"Maybe after a few glasses of champagne hey."

"Maybe. But I'll enjoy watching you."

"Mmm," she kissed him. "Go ring Isobel, I'll finish these, get changed and then make the tea and we'll find something to watch."

* * *

By the time he'd finished talking to Isobel and Richard, Elsie was snuggled up on the couch, flicking through the channels.

"Not found a film yet," she said as he climbed in behind her. "Were they okay?" She twisted onto her side to look at him, the remote control still in her hand.

"Fine. I was filling them in on my spa day. Richard was jealous of the massage, I could tell." He boasted, chuckling. "I like this," he said, pointing towards the television.

"The Simpsons?" She asked glancing at it, "How do you of all people like this?"

"I've seen it on occasion, it's usually on around tea-time when I'm sitting down to eat.

They watched for a while, Charles sniggering behind her every now and then.

"I wouldn't think you'd like this type of humour," she said smiling as Homer tried to seduce his wife.

"_Maybe I could wuther your heights?"_

_"…I'll take off my Victorian undergarments."*_

They both laughed, "I'm going to store that line in my memory for future reference." He said, tiptoeing his fingers along her side. "Seduction according to Homer."

She flicked through the channels again until she paused and moved the cushion beneath her head. "Now I like this."

"Diners, Drivers and Dives," he said incredulously, reading the title, "The rubbish you watch."

"Now don't be a snob, you learn things from television. I've learnt a lot about American cuisine from this. If I ever did a road trip I'd be set for places to eat."

"And would you want to take an American road trip?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd move to the States in a heartbeat, no question."

"Really?"

"Really. Somewhere where you can get up every morning to sunshine and go eat pancakes or one of those smoked salmon bagels he just made on your patio, maybe have a swim in your pool, potter on down to the shops or around your garden…"

"So you're not planning on having a job over there?"

"Bugger that, I want to win the lottery and move there just to relax and enjoy life."

He kissed the back of her head, "Nice dream. Would you take me with you?"

"If you behave." She started flicking though the channels again. "There must be a movie starting soon, it's almost nine o'clock."

"Make another cup of tea Els," he moaned, nudging her shoulder.

"Me? I made the last one."

"It is my birthday."

"Don't I know it." She rolled from his arms and got to her feet. "Got me strutting round like R2 bleeding D2. Here," she threw the remote at him. "Choose a movie."

He searched, listening to her pottering about in the kitchen. "Isobel said she had a song for Saturday," he shouted. "Which will be a miracle if she actually gets up and sings. Any chocolate in there?"

"What are you yelling about?" She asked, bringing in the tea and kicking off her slippers to settle down again.

"Any chocolate?"

"You've got that huge box that Thomas brought over yesterday for your birthday…" she glared as he pouted. "Does that look mean 'get them for me please Elsie.'"

"Yes. Please darling."

She trudged off back to the kitchen, returning with the long box of luxury truffles.

"Thank you sweetheart."

"_Love. Darling. Sweetheart._ These are all just terms to pacify your slave."

He was laughing as he lifted up the blanket, "Come cuddle up next to me slave."

"You're on thin ice birthday boy…" But she snuggled beside him anyway. "It's a good job we only have a few hours of it left."

"I can't reach the chocolates." He whispered by her ear.

"Oh lord above! Is that what I've got to look forward to in retirement." She pulled the table close to the edge of the sofa. "Better?"

"Much." He simultaneously kissed the side of her face whilst reaching over to take a truffle from the box.

"So, what did you make of the spa?"

"Surprisingly I enjoyed it."

"Hmm… that's good…"

"Why do I feel like you have a plan?"

"Woman _always_ have a plan dear." She tucked his arm around her waist, patting his hand. "I was thinking about wedding venues. And this place we're having the engagement party at tomorrow has a spa, and I was thinking if we got married there then guests could stay for the weekend and enjoy the facilities."

"So you figured you'd win me over to the joy of spas first."

"Yes."

"You're quite the plotter when you want to be aren't you."

"It's a skill all women must learn."

Chuckling he buried his face in her hair, squeezing her stomach. "Have I told you I love you today?"

"I think you may have _called_ it this morning." She twisted in his arms, turning to look at him. "Do you have a vague recollection of that?"

"Yes." He smirked. "A vague recollection."

She stroked his chin; "We're staying in the hotel on Saturday night you know, so you'll need a bag."

"I'm feeling very spoilt."

"Good. Now… what were you saying?"

"Oh yes, I was going to say, I love you Elspeth."

"I love you too… Charlie."

"Oh!" He tickled her waist, keenly aware now of her most sensitive spots. She squirmed in his arms, caught between laughing and protesting. "Now you brought that on yourself."

"_You_ brought it on yourself." She kissed him. "Now, quieten down and watch the film."

"You know I'll be asleep within twenty minutes," he said as she turned over again and he pressed his body against hers.

"I do know that. And you'll be snoring in my ear." She lifted his hand and kissed it. "Happy Birthday Mr Carson."

* * *

**8 Years Ago**

Turning the key and awkwardly pushing open the door to his flat Charles stumbled in, he was halfway drunk and his arms were full of gifts and cards.

In his mind he could still hear the jazz band from the club, his belly was full of good food and his ear ringing with fun conversation.

He stumbled up the stairs, kicked his shoes off in the hallway and dumped his gifts on the kitchen table ready to sort in the morning. He needed water and bed. He drank a pint and a half straight down and refilled his glass before he went to his bedroom.

Undressing in the heady warmth of the room he flopped down on top of the sheets. August was sticky that year and he'd been sleeping atop of the bed sheets for weeks, in just his underwear and with his window open to let in some air.

He laid in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, watching the odd flit of lights across it, passing cars, the curtains shifting in the breeze. The sounds of humans coming home from pubs – chatter and laughter.

Soon his spinning head began to calm and still and he reflected back on the evening. It had been a good evening, a full evening, he'd felt loved by his friends as they'd celebrated his fifty years on the earth.

He felt needed and valued.

Yet now, as he lay in the silence of his room, he felt like a teenager again. An awkward, gangly teenager who watched the rest of his classmates live life whilst he sat on the side lines wondering how it all unfolded. They all appeared to understand how everything worked. They made it all happen. And he stood around waiting for it to happen.

And it never did.

And so, fifty years, and still alone. Nothing much had changed since he was fifteen and wondering if the girl in the year below even knew if he existed.

"Happy Birthday Mr Carson," he said to the silent room.

* * *

* from The Simpson's episode 'Helter Skelter'.

* * *

_Forgive me Dee - at least you got to sleep with him hey! As always THANK YOU SO MUCH for all your reviews, tumblr weblogs, the pictures people make for me and the lovely messages you send. I appreciate it all more than I can say. It really makes writing this story even more worthwhile (better than just having it in my head!). x R_


	33. Chapter 33

_Lord this took some effort! An entire week to write and then the site was playing me about when it came to posting! __So here it finally is - their elaborate engagement party - lots of songs mentioned but I'll list them at the end should you wish to listen to them. Enjoy and as always thank you for your continued support both on here and tumblr, I'm overwhelmed by the love for the story! x_

* * *

**Chapter 33**

**January 2015 – 8 months earlier**

Charles was impatient, frustrated, it had been a week since he'd seen Elsie and he was longing to be with her again. They'd met the previous Sunday for lunch – she'd ordered roast chicken, he'd had lamb – but she'd been snowed under with work and they'd had nothing but a couple of hours together. It had been lovely but far too short.

Dating – he was discovering – wasn't always easy.

He'd called three times during the week – Monday, Wednesday and Friday, leaving messages on her machine for the first two days but she didn't reply. On Friday she finally answered and they'd made plans to go to the theatre Saturday night. He'd rung the theatre immediately and purchased tickets.

It seemed to him that since their New Year break she'd taken a step back from him. Though he wasn't going to push. If she needed time he was content to wait.

It was no surprise to him to find that she had developed an immense amount of power over him, not that he felt she was using it in any sort of negative way, or that she even really knew that she had it. In fact it seemed to him that as time went on she wanted nothing more than fun. She worked hard all week and at the weekend she enjoyed going out with him – dinner, the cinema or theatre, walking, music and sex – and that was okay to an extent. Things were progressing leisurely but nicely and that was okay too.

He'd wanted her for so many years that to finally find himself in her life, in her bed, was still something of a dream come true.

They'd walked home from the theatre, despite the frosty weather, and she'd taken him to bed – with cold hands and chapped skin. He was so grateful when her beautiful body brought his to a sweet climax that he would have given her anything, pledged his all.

Her legs were wrapped tight around him, her arms too, and it pressed him against him, entangled him completely in her warmth. He was almost docile after orgasm, she was soft and pliant, and he took the opportunity to smother her in kisses.

There was a time he used to watch her hands as she took her purse out to pay for her books in the shop, a time he'd dream of touching her fingers, a time he wondered what it would be like to have her touch him. The soft silk of her skin, the tenderness of her touch.

Now, as her fingertips danced over his shoulders and up his neck, he still couldn't quite believe he was lucky enough to experience it.

Soon she slid out from beneath him and stretched – and he watched as it pushed her breasts up and forward. Then she turned onto her side, as she often did, her back to him, her hair falling over the pillow between them.

Too often following sex she turned away. He figured Elsie Hughes didn't like to cuddle. But he couldn't help but feel hurt by her movement; the more affection he showered her with, the more she seemed to pull away.

"You don't like to be held?" Charles said, his voice cracking as he spoke, staring at her pale back, the gentle slope of her shoulder, the angle of her shoulder blade, where the line of her bra had pressed against her skin.

"Sorry?" she gazed over at him.

"You either don't like to be held or you don't like to be held by me."

She frowned, "I like this side of the bed, it's my favourite position to sleep in."

"I'd noticed."

She flopped onto her back sighing, patting her hands on top of the sheets. "How would you like me to lay?"

He shrugged.

"Why don't you just hold me from behind?" she said gently, lowering her chin, he looked so crestfallen, so much in need… of what she wasn't sure, or didn't dare consider, and she was even more afraid of the fact she couldn't give it to him.

Still, she rolled over, her back to him again, but this time reaching back for his arm and draping it over her waist until he pressed up against her, warm and whole.

His breath on her neck.

"Better?" She whispered.

"Much." He smiled, snuggling against her.

* * *

**Present Day**

"It better not rain," Elsie said as the hairdresser gave her one final spray. "I'll melt."

"Don't worry mum, there's such things as umbrellas, and there's a marquee don't forget."

"True." She gingerly touched her hair, not used to having it styled to within an inch of its life.

"You don't look silly," Anna said, reading her mind, moving to stand behind her and resting her hands on her shoulders. "It looks great, like a star."

Elsie glanced at her in the mirror, "Yours looks nice, simple and elegant."

"Yes, but its _your_ party."

"Not too over the top, a desperate fifty something trying to look young?"

"Mum… believe me, you look fantastic. He'll be bowled over."

Elsie smiled. "How am I going to get into the flat without him seeing?"

"We'll put a scarf over you and go through the back door. Give him strict instructions not to come up snooping, then we can do your nails in the kitchen."

"Did you get the colour to match my outfit?"

"Totally." She dug around in her bag, shaking a bottle of polish at Elsie. "Perfect isn't it?"

"It is actually. Well done."

"No probs. Shall we pay and go? Saturday afternoon traffic can be hell."

"I'll pay." Elsie said, getting to her feet and reaching for her handbag.

"I am earning now mum."

"A part time at Charles' shop is hardly 'earning'…" she said, rolling her eyes. Anna ignored the comment.

They made their way to the cashiers desk, thanked the assistant for the service and headed out into town and back to Elsie's car – it was less than a five minute drive back to the book shop and a fifteen minute walk, but there was no way Elsie was walking around Harrogate town centre in the middle of the afternoon with her hair puffed up in such a fancy way.

* * *

"Now don't get any ideas about just popping up," Anna warned as she worked the coffee machine.

"A stranger in my own home." Charles huffed, watching how quickly she heated the milk and made the espresso. "At what time will I be allowed access the shower?"

"I'd say 17 hundred hours exactly."

"Military operation."

"Yep. Mother's organisation always is. You just wait until Christmas day, god help that turkey if it isn't done exactly when she wants it."

He chuckled, imagining Elsie in a festive hat complaining through the oven door at the roasting bird.

"You know she's a had a tan done don't you?" Anna smiled at Charles. "And I'm going up to do her nails now. This is important stuff."

"This is only the engagement party – what's she going to be like on the wedding day?"

"A panicking witch! Just keep your head down and say 'yes' when she runs things by you."

"Got it. I've packed my overnight bag and got a surprise for the room."

"Oh?"

"Had them fill it with sunflowers." He smiled, triumphant, "she's not the only one who can do surprises."

"That's the sweetest thing ever, I hope some of your romantic edge rubs off on John."

"Is he okay, still coming tonight?"

"He is. I'm hoping mum keeps her calm and tries to get to know him. I might leave the introductions until she's had a few glasses of champagne."

"Good idea. You seem happy though." He said, glancing out into the shop as the bell on the door rang and a few customers came in.

"I am. Very. Right, best get these upstairs and get beautifying."

"Shouldn't take long," he grinned, leaving her to it and returning to work.

* * *

Anna left around five-thirty, planning to go home, change and then get a taxi to the venue. Charles was in the shower when she went, singing, warming up his voice ready for his karaoke 'performance', though he was certain that several glasses of whisky would be consumed prior to that actually taking place.

He'd been told he had to dress in the spare room – he'd laid his suit out there that morning. Polished his shoes. Took in the cologne he'd need. His watch. Cufflinks.

He took his time styling his hair; he'd never been vain and had no fantasies about emerging from the bathroom resembling Brad Pitt but he didn't intend to let her down. Not with all the effort she was going to.

"I'm ready," he called from the hall, glancing at himself in the mirror, pulling his shirt collar into place.

"Five minutes," she called back and he heard the wardrobe door bang shut. "Can't find the right shoes." She said by way of explanation.

"Want me to come in and help?"

"No. You just go wait in the lounge. Have you called the cab?"

"Just doing it." He said sheepishly, digging his phone out of his pocket. Truth was he hadn't been so excited about something since their first date just over a year ago.

He phoned for a taxi, gave them the hotel address and sat in his comfy chair in the lounge, his left leg folder over his right, swinging in mid-air.

He'd been ready for a good twenty-five minutes; he mused as he glanced at his watch. And he thought he looked quite sharp in his suit – Thomas had helped him pick it out and though he'd never go for black on black himself (finding it a bit too Johnny Cash for his tastes) he had to admit the lad had been right and he was happy with the results.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, scanning the text. Their taxi was outside.

"Els…" He called, "Taxi's here."

"Right."

He wondered what on earth she had to do. She'd spent the previous night going through her checklist whilst wearing a disgusting coloured face pack that smelt of mint. And she'd been to the hairdressers to have her hair styled. Then Anna had spent a good hour doing her nails and make-up. To be honest, he couldn't wait to see the finished product.

"I'm here, don't worry."

He caught a glimpse of the colour first – a vibrant, rich plum. Then the flash of her bare arm, her hair – extravagantly styled, and her luxurious perfume floating around her.

"So let's go." She said, clipping in an extravagant dangly earring that caught the light and sparked as it swung.

"Wow."

A slow smile curled upon her mouth, "Wow?"

"I mean you look stunning. Simply stunning. Amazingly," he swallowed. "I don't know whether to say beautiful or sexy."

"How about you flatter me with both?"

"How about we stay home and forget about the party?"

"Absolutely not, we've paid for it and I've rehearsed my song." She rested her hands on his shoulders, squeezing, "And I'm ready to dance."

"I can't believe how amazing you look," his hands stroked up reverently to her waist. "How proud I'll be to have you holding my hand."

"Well, you're looking kinda handsome yourself," she leant in to kiss him. "Ooh, and you smell divine." She kissed him again. "I like that Mr Carson."

"It's new, was a birthday gift from a friend."

"Which friend?" She said, straightening his collar.

"Laura…" he said self-consciously.

"Oh, _her_…"

"She'll be there tonight you know."

"I do know, I sent the invites remember. No dirty dancing with her. In fact no sexy dancing with anyone but me."

"I wasn't planning on doing any public sexy dancing."

"Oh yes you are," she smiled, patting his cheeks. "We best get going, I want to get there before the guests and check all is fine. That the champagne is chilled and the balloons where I want them, and your cake in pride of place."

"Thank you for doing this."

"You don't have to thank me. Spoiling you on your birthday is now my job." She kissed him. "And besides, planning this has been good practice for the wedding."

She pushed against his shoulders to stand up, "These heels are going to kill me."

He got up, standing in front of her, "Seeing you in that outfit all night is going to slowly kill me."

* * *

Charles took their bags up to the room, leaving Elsie downstairs to check all was as she wanted whilst he checked on her flowers.

There were vases of sunflowers on most of the surfaces and he took one out and laid it across her pillow – if he couldn't find a field of them for her then he'd create one for her. Leaving their overnight bags in the bathroom he made his way back down to join her.

He was amazed by the effort she'd gone to, by how glamorous it all looked. There was a small marquee outside, a stage area, a DJ, banquet tables already laden with food. Inside tables laid out for guests to sit if they wished, if the weather cooled, thankfully it was a balmy night and still light outside, barely seven and the sun hadn't set. The sky above him was wistfully blue with orange clouds rolling by.

"You like it?" Elsie whispered, disturbing his reverie as she came up behind him.

"Like it?" He turned to gather her in his arms, "It's wonderful. You're quite the organiser."

"Don't forget I'm on the Prom committee."

He patted her bottom, "Oh yes, so you are, hence the ease with which you managed to put this together. You're sure you're not going to surprise me with a vicar and marry me tonight?"

She bit her lip, "I hadn't thought of that. Besides, I wouldn't have this colour scheme for the wedding."

He grinned, swaying her, his hands resting at the base of her spine. "So, you want to set a date?"

"_Your_ job was to contact the church…"

"I know. I'll do it first thing Monday."

"Well, I'll marry you the first weekend of the Easter break next year, if possible, if the church is free."

"Kinda poetic," he smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I'll make sure it's free." He dipped his head down to whisper by her ear, "I can't wait to marry you."

"Look at this!" The unmistakeable tone of Beryl made them break apart. "It's fabulous."

"Glad you think so," Elsie called back across the grassy area.

"Wow, and you look great, I told you that thing would knock him dead." She grasped Elsie's arms. "Was I right?"

"You were," Charles said, leaning down to kiss her cheek and shaking Bill's hand.

"Though I have no idea how I'll pee in it," Elsie said, "I'll have to take the whole thing off."

She felt Charles' hand on her back, steadying her as she trampled over the grass towards the patio area. "Daisy you look gorgeous. Come have a photo with me before everybody gets here and it's too busy."

"You look great Aunty Elsie." The young woman said, kissing her cheek.

Elsie grasped a balloon and held it in front of them as they posed together in the photo area.

"There's a dress up box," they heard William say, hunting through and slipping on a soldier's hat.

"Oh very handsome," Elsie smiled, handing the balloon to Daisy. "Why don't the two of you have a picture together?"

As she left them to it she noted Anna walking through the Phoenix room towards them in a stunning black dress.

"Oh my darling, you look exquisite." Elsie gushed, folding her hands together as she noticed John behind her.

"I figured if my mother was looking amazing I had to make an effort."

They hugged and Elsie whispered by her ear, "How is your dress holding up around your boobs?"

"Magic tape!" Anna giggled. "You look wonderful."

Elsie pulled back and gripped Anna's shoulders, "Thank you. Shall we have some photos done together in the booth before it gets busy?"

"Absolutely."

Behind her Charles was chatting to his half-brother, reluctantly Elsie went to them, sliding one hand into Charles' and offering her other to John.

"Good evening Mrs Hughes."

"Hello, that's very formal of you," she said lightly, "you must call me Elsie."

"Great party… Elsie," he said thankfully, shaking her hand. "Oh and you too Charles, of course."

"Oh no, this is all Elsie's doing. You can tell because it's perfect."

As other guests started to arrive – members of Charles' cricket team, Elsie's work mates, wider family members – the room filled and people spilled out onto the patio and the marquee. The music swelled and buffet food was served and the mood settled into a warm and joyful one as the sun set over Yorkshire

"Look how brown you are," Elsie exclaimed as Phyllis pulled her into a hug. "How was Spain?" She asked kissing her cheek.

"Beautiful. Hot. Relaxing. But look at you getting engaged. I'm so pleased for you," she squeezed her arms, "I really mean that, I'm so very happy for you both. He's a lovely man."

"He is."

"How did he propose?"

Elsie laughed, "I proposed actually."

"Really… oh goodness, you must tell me all about it. Let's get a drink…"

* * *

Gulping down his second whisky of the night Charles slid the glass onto a table and picked up a glass of champagne in its place. He brushed his hand through his hair as he climbed the four steps up to the small stage area.

The volume of the music lessened as he nodded to the DJ and he gently tapped the microphone.

He was nervous – though determined not to show it.

"Good evening," he said, relieved when the guests stopped what they were doing and turned to face him, a few replying with 'good evening' in response.

"I felt I ought to say a few words – and it will be a few – before the party really gets going and you're all too drunk to concentrate."

A few chuckles passed over the crowd and he scanned the area, seeking out Elsie.

"As many of my friends here tonight know I've been a bachelor for more years than either you or I would care to remember. Over the years you have in turn mocked me, sympathised with me, despaired over me… and now, all I can say is ha bloody ha!"

They laughed now and he finally spotted Elsie moving through the crowd to stand closer to the stage.

"Because I have finally found this wonderful, beautiful woman to spend my life with. God knows what she saw in me but for some reason a year ago she finally agreed to go on a date with me – after many years of mooning after her – and here we are and I can honestly say, I've never been happier." He lifted his glass up. "And that's as mushy as I'm going to get at the moment. So let's have a toast to the organiser of this great shindig, and the person who got you all in the same place at the same time, my fiancée Elsie Hughes."

There was a chorus of 'Elsie Hughes' and she smiled up at him as he drained his champagne.

"And now, because apparently _we've all_ got to have a go, I'm going to get this damned karaoke song out of the way before the fear kills me. No laughing, and for god's sake please get up and damn well dance."

Again people laughed and he was relived when he spotted Richard leading Isobel out to the dance floor – truly a friend for life.

Stepping back from the microphone he put his champagne glass down and cleared his throat; sliding his glasses off he slipped them into his jacket pocket as the music began, if he couldn't see the crowd then he couldn't be nervous.

Closing his eyes momentarily he leant forward and uttered the first line, _"She may be the face I can't forget…"_ then opened his eyes as he continued, watching as Elsie perched on the edge of a table looking directly at him. If he just focussed on her it would be okay. _"The trace of pleasure or regret, maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay. She may be the song that summer sings, may be the chill that Autumn brings, maybe a hundred different things within the measure of a day."_

He took a deep breath as he waited for the next section to begin, glad of the swaying couples, of the confidence alcohol provided. When the instrumental took over he found Elsie smiling at him and watched as Anna came over to take her arm and dragged her onto the dance floor so they could sway about together, giggling and spinning dramatically.

_"She may be the reason I survive, the why and wherefore I'm alive, the one I'll care for the through the rough and ready years. Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears and make them all my souvenirs, for where she goes I've got to be – the meaning of my life is she."_

Relief washed over him at the last note and he stepped back from the microphone, bowing his head as the dancers stopped to clap. He heard Thomas' unmistakeable wolf whistle and pointed directly at him, "Get up here you, you promised some George Michael."

"Only if you'll be Elton," he shouted in response.

"I can safely say that's me done for eternity." He jumped down from the stage, tugging on his jacket.

"I'll sing with you Thomas," Elsie smiled, hooking her arm through his. "You pick a duet and I'm there."

"On it Mrs H." The young man bounded onto the stage leaving Elsie to draw Charles into a hug.

"That was very nice honey," she whispered by his ear. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, wouldn't put myself through it for just anyone."

"Oh I know." She kissed him, draping her arms over his shoulders, around them there were a few whistles and then she heard Thomas tapping on the microphone again.

"Come on then Elsie love, let's get the party started. And the rest of you get off your arses and onto this dance floor, I want to see some Gavin and Stacey style dancing going on."*

"Oh classic," she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as the first notes started and she headed towards the stage. Charles had absolutely no idea what he was referring to but it seemed the guests did as they formed two lines either side of the dance floor.

_"Baby when I met you there was peace on earth, I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb. I was soft inside, there was something going on…"_

"You can sing!" She mouthed to Thomas as he sang the opening line and held out the spare microphone for her. _"You do something to me that I can't explain, hold me closer and I feel no pain – every beat of my heart, we got something going on."_

She looked down to see Beryl forcing Charles into the dance; he avoided the line-dance but was forced into a waltz style move instead.

_"Islands in the stream, that is what we are, no one in between, how can we be wrong? Sail away with me, to another world, and we rely on each other, from one lover to another."_

By the end everyone was singing along and Thomas was swaying her around the stage and she couldn't remember feeling giddier. When the music ended she felt Thomas lift and spin her and she was laughing against his shoulder.

The celebration was interrupted by the DJ announcing that the late night brunch was served and soon the dance floor cleared as the guests headed into the marquee to take their pick from mini British classics – fish and chips, beef and Yorkshire puddings, strawberries and cream.

Thomas jumped down from the stage and held his hand up to assist Elsie.

"That was fun, thank you." She said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"No need. I enjoyed it too."

"So your man is pretty damn sexy." She smiled, glancing over to where Jimmy was chatting to Daisy as they waited in the queue for food.

"He is, dangerously so."

"And how's it going with him?"

Thomas shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets and pulling out his cigarettes. "Tough stuff, this relationship business." He offered the packet to Elsie but she shook her head.

"No thank you dear, I gave it up." She hooked her arm through his as they went to join the end of the queue. "And you should too, it's bad for you."

"So is love but I keep going back for more with that too."

"Oh honey," she patted his arm, "It surely doesn't have to be. Perhaps it's the wrong kind."

"Mmm," he sucked on his cigarette, "too much sex not enough love?"

She laughed. "Well, the two don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"I guess not. Going on how contented our Charlie boy seems these days."

"Don't tease him, you know how he gets."

"I suppose only you can do that. I'm amazed you got him up to sing though."

"Well, I may have used some gentle persuasion with that."

"Oh I bet… You repeating the act?"

"Oh absolutely, though I need more wine first."

"Fair enough, come on," he stubbed out his cigarette. "Let's get some food and ply you with wine."

* * *

After dinner Anna took the opportunity to kick off the late night celebrations, clambering up onto the stage and taking hold of the microphone.

"Excuse me," she tapped the top of it. "Hello lovely people, don't worry, no speech from me I just want to get you all up and dancing."

There was sporadic clapping and she nodded at the enthusiasm.

"Now, when I was – as mum would say – a wee thimble of a thing," she laughed imitating her mother's accent. "…I used to love to dance. And mum and I would have dance parties in the lounge and this song was our absolute favourite so wherever you are mingling mum…" Elsie waved as she got up from a table, a glass of wine in her hand. "Ah, there. Put your wine down and come get on this dance floor with me."

Elsie bowed her head in agreement, took a last gulp of wine and made her way over to the dance floor. She heard Beryl shout something and Bill whistle as she did.

Anna had jumped down from the small stage and was waiting in the middle of the dance floor for her.

"This isn't going to embarrass me is it?" Elsie whispered as Anna took hold of her hands.

"Totally. But you can carry it off looking as hot as you do."

"I could say the same."

The familiar opening strains of Cyndi Lauper sounded out and both immediately fell into rhythm, moving together as they had hundreds of times before, swinging each other around and laughing joyfully.

Charles turned fully around in his chair to watch them, picturing them years earlier, the tiny little blonde girl standing on the coffee table and swinging her arms with her mother.

Beryl and Alice soon joined them along with almost every woman determined to prove that girls really did just want to have fun.

The seamless link continued as they quickly moved into the athematic 'I Will Survive' and sang at the top of their voices.

As the song came to an end Elsie dashed to the edge of the dance floor and kicked her shoes to one side before returning to dance. She realised she was probably quite tipsy but the feeling of being free to dance and have fun and just be herself was heady.

She felt Anna's arms grasp her waist and she wiggled back against her as Anna whispered in her ear, "It's Britney bitch!" and they both laughed as the beat to 'Toxic' filled the night air.

Charles watched them from a table around the edge of the dance floor; how free Elsie looked, how happy, how her body swayed with the music, how her hips wiggled in time with the beat, she was so damned sexy… too damned sexy.

"Hey," John said, slipping into a chair beside him and sliding a bottle of beer to him. "They look good don't they?"

Charles tapped his bottle against John's and nodded, "Amazingly so. Good to see them both happy."

Again Charles nodded. "It's going well then, with Anna?"

"Very. Moving fast, we've spoken about living together."

Charles glanced at him, raising his eyebrows, "Really? You're sure?" He felt his chest tighten as he asked, and looked back to Anna dancing with her mother, she looked young – why did she want to be tied down? It was the first time he could recall such fatherly feelings towards anyone; it had never mattered to him before what people chose to do. Their life; their decision.

But he thought of how upset Elsie would feel, how powerless, so easily she'd fall into the role of interfering mother and it was a role she wasn't suited to.

"You don't think it's too soon?" He asked gently, watching as Elsie whispered something in Anna's ear and she laughed raucously in return.

"It is. Undoubtedly it is. But what can I say – we're drawn together, it feels right." He rested his arms on the table and held Charles' gaze, "Look she was talking about her father…"

Charles bit his lip, his brow furrowed, "What did she say?"

"That she was confused, torn, she'd met with him the other day – she told me he turned up drunk at her leaving party, that he'd insulted you, upset Elsie."

He felt relief fill his chest – he didn't want John to know what kind of man Joe really was, what he'd done to Charles' fiancée – John could be an unknown force, angry, when provoked, vengeful in the past. He didn't want that side of him to emerge and threaten the happiness Anna had found.

John shook his head, clearly Charles didn't want to discuss Joe, and it wasn't the time or place anyhow. "How are things going with the house anyway?"

"Good," Charles said swallowing his beer, "Progressing well, hopefully we should get the keys in a couple of weeks. Elsie's been managing most of it really, we'll have to share it out once she returns to work. I don't know how she balances it all…" He looked towards her again and she caught his gaze and waved.

"They're pretty amazing women," John said.

"And we're lucky to be in their lives." Charles stated as he watched Elsie stride purposefully across the dance floor and towards the stage. "So don't mess it up, if you're living with her then wait, at least a few weeks, you never know, you could take my flat. It'd be cheaper…"

"You don't have to do that."

"But I would. If it helped. Lowest possible rates," he shrugged, "don't mention it to Els though, I'll do it when it's time."

He turned his back on John as Elsie tapped the microphone, getting up from his table and moving to one closer to the edge of the dance floor and leaning back against it.

"Don't worry," she said as she guests turned to face her. "I'm not going to make any dramatic, lengthy speeches – I'll save that for the wedding." A few people clapped, including Charles who took a drink from a passing waitress. "So, I suppose after so much talk about this karaoke and listening to so many of you indulging I guess it's time I kept my side of the bargain, stopped being a wimp and get up here and do a song. Especially as my wonderful future husband has already serenaded me in such outstanding fashion."

He raised his glass to her and bowed dramatically.

"So honey, this is a song for you."

_'I've been so many places in my life and time. I've sung a lot of songs; I've made some bad rhymes. I've acted out my love in stages, with ten thousand people watching. But we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you. I know your image of me is what I hope to be. I've treated you unkindly but darling can't you see? There's no one more important to me. Darling can't you please see through me. But we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you. You taught me precious secrets, of a truth withholding nothing, you came out in front and I was hiding. But now I am so much better, and if my words don't come together, listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding._

_I love you in a place where there's no space or time. I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine. And when my life is over – remember when we were together, we were alone and I was singing this song to you.'_

Below her couples were swaying to the music, which she was grateful for, but the only image she focussed on was Charles stood at the edge of the dance floor staring at her. When the instrumental beat kicked in she stood back from the microphone, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself before she returned to sing the refrain again, this time stronger.

She was met with cheering and clapping once she'd finished, and she brushed off the sentimentality of the moment by twirling and bowing dramatically. Signalling for the DJ to fill the gap she's glad that the dancing resumes almost instantaneously.

It's odd how quickly emotions take over at events like this – the freedom to dance and drink and indulge. To sing loudly and celebrate. She's even spotted Isobel letting herself go and shimmying around.

Charles meets her at the steps leading down from the stage; he takes her hand and helps her down, drawing her into a tight hug.

"Didn't embarrass myself?" She whispered by his ear.

"God no, it was lovely. Beautiful. Better than mine."

"Nonsense."

He pulled back to look at her, "Wanna ditch this lot and go back to our room?"

She giggled, fussing with his collar, "Not yet. I want you to dance with me."

"You know I'm not much good at it."

"That isn't true, you danced with me in that pub."

"In front of strangers!" He laughed.

"Why should that matter?" She nudged his chin with hers, "Come on, just for a while, it's almost eleven, fireworks soon and then people will be disappearing and we'll be alone…" she stood on her tiptoes to whisper by his ear, "…and naked."

He's shaking his head and smiling as he looks down at her wide-eyed expression, "Your powers of persuasion, honestly…"

She's grinning smugly as she pulls on his hand and leads him onto the dance floor, smiling as Beryl waves and continues to wiggle against Bill.

"He makes me shiver all over," she stated, and Elsie laughed at the two of them.

"Bit of a disturbing thought." Charles mumbled and Elsie nudged him in the stomach and pulled him to her as 'Do You Love Me?' starts.

"Oh baby," she whispers, "perfect tune to dance to." She turns her back to him, stepping back, her bottom near his groin, her arms rising – it's a clear night, the sky inky blue, the summer evening air warm and enveloping.

He's overwhelmed by how happy he feels, by how good it feels to have her dancing like this in his arms, outdoors on an August night. His family and friends witnessing this side of Charles Carson for the first time in his life.

He bends to kiss her neck, feels her hand squeeze his as she turns and presses against him, looping her arms over his shoulders as the music changes and slows and they sway together.

"I love you," she says, resting her head against his chest.

* * *

As they waved the last of the guests off Elsie turned back towards the building, walking around the edge of the dance floor, scanning the floor.

"What are you doing?" Charles asked, taking his jacket from the back of a chair and draping it over his shoulder.

"Looking for my shoes."

"You mean these ones here?" He asked, picking them up from beneath the table and dangling them on his thumb.

"Those might be the ones." She made her way to back inside, taking them from him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Look at all these poor staff having to clean up after us."

"At least they're getting paid. You're not putting your shoes on?"

"My feet hurt," she pressed her palm against his chest, stepping in close to him. "Let's go for a walk before we go back to the room."

"It's late," he smiled, but he was already taking her hand and following her back outside, past the marquee and off onto the grass.

"Take your shoes off," she said, digging her toes into the cool grass.

"My feet will be dirty."

"Mine already are."

He did as she asked, sitting on the grass and watching as she wandered off. He leant back, arms behind him, fingers curling into the grass just as his bare toes were. The very air around him smelt so good, so welcoming, fresh and green, heady with floral – the scent of an English summer.

"Are you coming?" She asked, turning to look at him.

"You know," he said, remaining where he was. "I don't think things could be more perfect."

"Oh really…?" She dropped her shoes, sauntering towards him, deliberately swaying her hips.

"Well…" he lifted his arms up, as if ready to receive her into them. "Maybe a tad better."

"Just a tad?" She smiled wickedly, her eyes glinting as she paused, barely a metre from him. "Did you get a slice of your cake Mr Carson?"

"I did and it was wonderful. Come here."

"And you enjoyed the food – you know I selected that menu with your favourites."

"Stop talking about food and come here."

She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him, sitting relaxed on the hill, the easy slope of his shoulders, the casual air about him. A far cry from the man she used to know – suited and stuffy, hiding behind his counter.

Giving in, she slowly moved to him, stepping between his legs as he parted his knees slightly, and resting her hands on his shoulders. She felt his arms circle her waist, his face press against her stomach as she kissed his head.

"Just perfect."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." She said, stroking his neck with one hand. "Very glad."

He tilted his head back, looking up at her, "I can't wait to marry you."

Smiling she bent and kissed him, "I can't wait for that either."

He kissed her again, opening her mouth with his, teasing her with his tongue, quickly intensifying the moment. "Do you know how delicious you look in that outfit?"

"I'm glad you think so. It's a bit of a different choice for me, though I have received quite a few compliments."

"Who from?" He asked, rubbing his palms against her hips, the material sliding beneath his fingertips.

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know…" She teased.

"Mmm, feeling as I do now they wouldn't dare try and make a move on you."

She giggled, "My such talk for a book shop owner."

He sucked in a tight breath, his hands slipping down to grip her bottom as he pressed his face against her stomach again. "I want you."

"We can't do this here," she whispered, resting her chin on his forehead and breathing deeply. "Shall we walk to the room?"

"In a moment," he patted her hip, "come sit beside me for a moment."

"Is it damp? I don't want grass stains on my new outfit."

"Here," he laid out his jacket. "Better?"

"Yes." She flopped down next to him, watching as he lay down and beckoned for her to join him. Her head easily nestled into his side and he curled his arm around her.

He stared up at the sky, felt her warm and whole against him. "Definitely a birthday I won't forget."

"I should hope not," she pressed a kiss to his chest. "Not too over the top?"

"Every bit of it and more!" He chuckled, "You might even have outdone Isobel, doubtless your intention."

"The thought never even crossed my mind."

"Yeah… right."

"It's not usually my style," she shrugged, lacing her fingers with his and turning his hand over. "But I rather enjoyed being a little extravagant. The centre of attention."

"It suits you," He kissed her head. "You smell of hair spray."

She giggled, "That's because I have about two cans worth of the stuff holding my hair up. It's going to take an entire bottle of shampoo to get it out again."

He pressed his palm against her hair, felt it give slightly as he pressed.

"Hey," she warned.

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

They laughed together, a bright sound in the quiet of the night.

"Thank you for dancing with me."

"Anytime partner."

"It's beautiful out here," she whispered, "still and quiet."

"Yep…"

She laughed as music started up again, and pushed herself up on her elbows to glance back towards the building.

"Another party?" He asked.

"Must be." She turned, leaning over his chest. "One last dance before bed?"

She looked so happy he couldn't imagine denying her anything. "Sure."

She got to her feet, holding her hands out to pull him up.

"Nice song," he said as they swayed together.

"_Won't you stay with me, cause you're all I need…"_ She sang along and he chuckled.

"Of course you'd know the words."

"That's because I'm hip and cool."

He swept her around, until she was giggling and clinging onto him.

"Stop," she laughed, "god stop Charles, I'll pee myself." She pressed against his shoulders and he was tickling her waist. "Stop, stop!" She pleaded.

"Alright," he put her down, brushing her hair back as they both continued to laugh. "Shall we find you a bathroom."

"Let's find_ our_ room."

* * *

He searched his jacket pocket for the key, trying to balance his shoes beneath his arm as he did so, laughing as Elsie jumped from foot-to-foot.

"Hurry, hurry I need the loo and it'll take me an age to get this thing off."

"How very romantic."

"Forget romance, this is realism, necessity."

"Got it!" He eased open the door and she rushed in, dropping her shoes and completely missing the display of sunflowers he'd arranged as she disappeared into the bathroom.

He laid his jacket over a chair, kicked his shoes beneath it, dimmed the lights and collapsed back onto the bed – careful to avoid putting his feet onto the sheets.

"Els… I'll need to wash my feet…." She didn't respond. "What are you doing in there? Need some help getting out of it?"

"No… I'm done." He listened to the running of water and then she was stumbling into the room, pausing as she took in the sight of the sunflowers. "When did you… how did you do this?"

A slow smile eased onto his face as he looked her up and down, "New underwear?"

"It is. But when did you?"

"I called the hotel, you're not the only one who can plan."

"Sunflowers."

"A step towards your fantasy, perhaps?"

"Oh very much so," she crawled over the bed to him, sitting astride him. "Very, _very_ thoughtful." She bent forward, mindful of how she pressed against him, of his hands trailing up her bare back.

"Am I the luckiest man alive?"

"I don't think I'm qualified to make that judgement." She stroked her fingertips down his cheek. "You still want to go wash your feet?"

"Do I want to end this moment with you delightfully pressing against my groin, hmm, let me think?"

She wiggled against him; savouring the feel of his penis hardening as she did so and the wonderful groan escaping his mouth. Then she sat back, pulling his hands, folding her fingers with his and pressing her palms against his.

"So, I'm liking this colour on you."

"Deep plum," she said, "to match my outfit."

"Nice," he slid his hands from hers, up to cup her breasts, the contrast between the lace of her bra and the softness of her skin.

She took her time unbuttoning his shirt, easing her hands over his chest, through the sparse greying hairs, her nails raking over his nipples.

"Trying to seduce me, Mrs Hughes?" He said as she tugged his shirt from his trousers.

"Do I even have to try?"

He licked his lips, a slight smile on his face as he slid his hand up her back, guiding her body down so he could kiss her again.

"Hi beautiful…"

"I feel what you're doing you know." She whispered, her lips hovering over his as she felt the material of her bra loosen. "You've gotten too good at that."

"Practice."

"Indeed."

She let the material fall down her arms, shaking it off and throwing it aside. The fragrance of flowers filled the room and she sat back on him, sweeping her gaze over the display. "Almost a field of sunflowers."

"Perhaps more comfortable." He pushed himself up, ignoring the twinge in his back as he did so.

She smirked, "That hurt honey?" She rubbed his lower back.

"A sign of things to come. Ow…" he shifted back, "I think I need something to lean on."

She couldn't help but laugh as he awkwardly shifted back on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as she bobbed about on top of him doing her best not to fall over, one arm gripped across her breasts to hold them still.

"Oh god, Charles, this is hardly…" she fell forward against him, "my classiest look."

"Sorry," he moved again, pulling a pillow up behind him. "There."

"Is that it? Are you settled? Can I let go of my boobs now?"

"Here, I'll hold them for you." He smiled, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Sure you will, are you alright there then, don't need to move again?"

"I think you're better on top for round one."

"Round one?!" She wiggled against him; "It's gone one in the morning now." He was tickling her waist, his fingers circling the band of her panties. "Round one. How romantic."

"I'll be romantic now darling."

"Right _darling_, you'll be asleep in twenty minutes."

He slid his hand into her hair, moving his face to hers, "Maybe twenty five."

She had to move to unfasten his trousers and inch them down, he kicked them off and they were both laughing at the absurdity of it as they somehow manoeuvred together to get naked.

"Maybe we shouldn't drink so much on the wedding day," she said, as he held her hips and lifted her body even closer to his, until her stomach pressed against his and he had easy access to her breasts.

"Are you worried we may not be able to actually consummate the whole thing?"

"Absolutely. In fact I was thinking we should probably stop having sex from this point onwards…"

He frowned, "Virginity can't grow back you know."

"No, but if we don't have sex between now and April next year that's almost nine months and I bet you that when we do have sex again you'll feel like you just lost your virginity!"

"Fair point, but no, I'm not into that particular plan, do I get a veto? How many vetoes do I get in the whole wedding planning thing?"

"Erm, probably one."

"Right. So this is how I'm gonna use it. You can have whatever else you want."

"Anything…?" She whispered, leaning in to kiss him. "That gives me such power."

"You already have it."

* * *

She was lying on her stomach, her arms folded beneath her head, sheets tangled around her waist. She whistled as she watched Charles walk naked from the bathroom and back to their bed.

"Careful there missy."

"Are you single?" She smiled, twisting onto her side, supporting her head on her hand as she lifted one leg and stuck her foot out to touch his leg as he got close. "Maybe you'd like to date me."

"To date you?" He squeezed in beside her. "I'd like to do more than date you."

"Mmm, like, maybe rub my back?"

"Oh alright, turn over."

"Thank you," she chimed, twisting back onto her stomach and propping her head up on the pillows. She felt his warm hands glide across her shoulders and down her spine before he began to massage her.

"So, when you first asked me out…"

"Yes?" He pushed her hair to one side as he trailed his fingers up her neck. "Most terrifying experience of my life. Until tonight's karaoke of course."

"Why?"

"Because it's public singing, never to repeated may I point out."

"No. The date."

"Oh. Because you might've said no. In fact I'd convinced myself you'd say no. I'd been thinking of it for what seemed like forever, ever since I realised you were in fact now single."

"When did you realise that?"

"Guess work. You never actually told me you were getting…well…"

"Divorced." She said as she turned her head on the pillow. "Left shoulder please honey."

He shifted his hands, "I noticed you had a white band where your ring used to be, probably a year before I plucked up the courage to ask you out to dinner."

She giggled, "Now that was romance."

"What? You mean my rather fumbling, stumbling attempt to ask you out."

"I believe your exact words were, 'If you'd like to have dinner one night that would be nice.' You spent a year practising that?"

He squeezed her hips, "No, I spent a year practising my 'that's okay' face when you'd clearly turn me down. Only you didn't, you said, 'Yes I suppose it might,' and my love for you was made eternal."

She laughed again, "I thought that happened the first time I took you in my mouth."

"Elsie!"

She glanced back at him, smirking, "Just saying, I'd never seen a man so happy."

"You're teasing me."

"Teasing you would be telling you I'm never going to do it again."

She pushed herself up, waiting for him to sit back so she could turn over.

"And now look at me, naked in bed with you… sometimes the fumbling guy _does_ get the girl."

"Oh, sometimes more than once." She sat forward, moving to kiss him, "What time is it?"

"Almost three…"

"Think we should go to sleep?"

"Not for a moment."

"So glad we're on the same wavelength."

"Like it was meant to be." He smiled, sliding his hands around her and settling her back onto the bed.

She was humming her pleasure as his mouth travelled over her body, covering every inch of skin, committing every curve and line to his memory. That she was stunning to him was a given, that she had his heart was something he'd grown used to, but that she could still make him feel even more – deeper, stronger, purer – each and every day, was quite astounding.

He took his time circling her belly-button with his tongue, listening to her giggle, the squirm of her body beneath his as his fingers tickled the most sensitive spots along her ribcage. He sank lower down the bed, beneath the heat of her thighs, the feather-soft skin there brushing his face. She smelt overwhelming, like home, intoxicating, welcoming.

Her fingers were in his hair, scrunching it beneath her palm, pressing and releasing as his mouth slid over her. She lifted her leg, dug her heel into his lower back, pushing herself upward to meet him.

"Charles," she whispered, biting down on her lip, the overwhelming sweep of desire cascading from chest to stomach to the resting place of the man with whom she'd fallen so deeply in love. "Don't stop…" she breathed, tilting her head back, chest rising up at the movement. "I want you so very much."

"You have no idea," he murmured, his words sliding over her stomach in one long curl of warm breath.

She tugged on his shoulders and he moved over her, falling so easily between her legs, his resting place.

"No idea how badly I ache for you," he said, mouth on her belly, up over her ribcage, "You're everything to me." Kissing her breasts, the place where he felt her heart thud beneath him.

The sheets tangled around his feet as he moved and they both chuckled as he attempted to kick them free.

The room was dark, only the dusky light of the coming dawn lighting the shapes of their bodies as they moved – naked, skin-to-skin, in the heady summer night.

"Love me." Her tone was almost desperate, almost questioning.

"Every second of every day," he smiled against her lips, kissing her delicately, tenderly, as they moved so very slowly together.

He remembered that night in Dubai, when they'd made love and he'd realised there would never be another woman for him. When he'd been overwhelmed by being there with her watching the fountains and they'd been like this – so close, so intense, and their movements slowed down almost to nothing, loving each other with languid passion.

He slid his hands over hers, spreading them out on the pillow above her head, and they locked fingers, palm-to-palm.*

"I love you Elsie," he says, "so completely."

Her eyes are damp, mouth open as she tries to breathe, chest tight, body alive with want and need and pleasure. "I love you too, always."

* * *

"We get to take the sunflowers home, don't we?" She asks later, leaning over the pillows piled beneath her chin and watching as he digs around in his duffel bag.

"Of course, I paid for them. Don't know where we'll fit them all."

"You can surround me with them in the back seat of the car. What are you looking for?"

"Just wait… a-ha, here we go." He pulled out a bottle of Disaronno. "Perfect. Get some glasses Els, I'll nip down the hallway for ice."

"It's almost four in the morning, for god's sake don't go naked like that."

"I've the state of mind to put a robe on." He put the bottle down on the bedside table and disappeared for a few minutes, leaving her to laze around, flopping over onto her back and staring up at her ring as she held her hand above her and cast streaks of light across the ceiling with the diamond.

"What are you doing?" He smiled when he came back.

"Just admiring this."

"Did you get glasses?"

She pouted at him "I couldn't possibly move I'm afraid."

He was shaking his head as he hooked his fingers around two tumblers and carried them to the bed, setting them down on the pillow by her head and kneeling next to her.

She sat up, holding the glasses and watching as he poured and dropped in ice.

"So, here's to us." He said, taking hold of one and raising it.

"To us." She smiled, "Down in one?"

"If you do."

"One. Two. Three!" They both downed the drinks, Charles spluttering slightly as it hit the back of his throat, Elsie crunching on the ice-cube.

"You and your Scottish fortitude." He moved to sit back, pleased when she automatically came to curl in his lap, reaching to refill their glasses.

"I feel it's going to be a Sunday in bed."

"I have no issues with that; how long did you book the room for?"

"Until Monday. Perhaps you should ask Anna to open the shop for you Monday morning."

"Perhaps I will. I'll text her tomorrow."

"Today," she reminded.

"Yes, later today." He kissed the top of her head and took a sip of his drink. "So, I want to say something but don't want you to get annoyed."

"That sounds ominous."

"Not really to do with us, well not directly." He squeezed his hand against her hip. "It's about Anna and John."

"Oh…?"

"I think he loves her. I think she loves him."

"That's silly, they've only just met."

"That may well be, but I loved you for years and I saw you less than once a month and even then you only scanned the books on my shelves and had no more than a two-minute chat with me."

She twisted over slightly, enough to look up at him. "You didn't really know me, I didn't really know me then. You couldn't love me."

"Not like I do now, of course not, but it was love, of a kind." He shrugged. "Perhaps a healthy dose of lust too."

She bit her lip as she smiled. "So what would you like me to do, in regards to Anna and John?"

"Get to know him. Let's have dinner, or even just meet them for a drink one night, give him a chance maybe."

"And if it goes tits up?"

"If it does then it does, but at least you'll be there for her."

He wouldn't mention the flat yet, that they wanted to live together, that in a way he'd offered to help.

She shivered and he reached down and pulled the quilt up over them, feeling her body curl against his, her legs over his.

"I guess we could go for a drink. And if I don't hate him then I'll make dinner one night. But I'm still not happy about her dating somebody so much older."

"I know."

"Nor am I happy that she hasn't found a job yet." She leant over him to put down her empty glass. "I'll have to book time off work when we get the date for her graduation, you'll shut the shop won't you?"

"I'm invited?"

"Don't be silly." She kissed his chest, laying her head down on him. "My head's dizzy, I think I'm drunk."

"We have drunk rather a lot during the course of the celebration."

"Won't it be nice to have a lazy Sunday in bed though?" She said, spreading her hand out over his chest, noting the differences in the texture and colour of their skin, the steady thrum of his heart beneath her palm.

"Very nice. I'm knackered."

She chuckled, pushing herself up to look at him. "Not fading on me now are you darling?"

"I don't think twice is bad for one night."

"No, it isn't," she lifted her mouth to his, then trailed kisses down over his chin, his neck, and then back up until she suckled on his lower lip. "Could I tempt you to a third?"

"You could tempt me to a forth. Come here?" He said, whipping her up into his arms and rolling her back on the bed.

"As long as your back doesn't give out." She teased.

"Minx."

"_Honey_…" She drawled seductively.

"Sweetheart."

They were both still laughing as their mouths met all over again, imitating the very intimate movements their bodies would soon make.

* * *

_Phew! that took some getting through - I know, very mushy, but kinda nice too! Please let me know what you thought. **x R**_

_**A couple of points**_

_* Gavin and Stacey is a fabulous show! In one episode they did a line dance to 'Islands'._

_* This line is taken from chapter 5 when Charles first told her he loved her._

_**Songs**_

She – Elvis Costello

Islands in the Stream – Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton

Girls Just Want To Have Fun – Cyndi Lauper

I Will Survive – Gloria Gaynor

Toxic – Britney Spears

A Song For You – The Carpenters

Do You Love Me – The Contours

Stay With Me – Sam Smith


	34. Chapter 34

_Real life kicks in after the party - work, house buying, family stuff - you know the like!_

* * *

**Chapter 34**

**A Return to Routine**

_**Two weeks since the engagement party – Sunday**_

There's something rather lovely about a lazy Sunday morning in bed. The peace of it. The stillness. No pressing need to be anywhere or do anything.

Charles swung his arm up and over his eyes in an attempt to block out the sunshine. He didn't want to wake, his body felt languid, his limbs heavy, weighed down by fatigue.

He turned away from the window, rolled forward, his legs the first thing to touch Elsie. He pressed one knee between her legs, slid his arm over her waist and his chin into the back of her shoulder, his lips kissing her skin as he sighed.

She moved ever so slightly in her sleep, leant back into him. She was warm and soft, her body supple beneath his palms. Her hair tickled his face as he moved his lips up over her shoulder blade and rested his head behind hers. Eyes closed again he melted into the pillow beside her, squeezed his hand against her stomach, bunching up the material of her nightgown.

When Elsie woke she could feel Charles' breath on the back of her neck, his hand on her belly and something rather more pressing against her bottom.

She shifted, the beginnings of a smile upon her lips, rubbing back until she heard his breathing tighten, he drew in a long breath and then out again upon her skin.

Leaning forward, away from his hold, until he tightened his grip and tugged her back.

"Morning," she whispered with a snigger.

"What makes you think I'm awake?"

"I can feel a particular bit of you is."

"Mmm, sorry," he kissed the back of her neck, "I can't help that."

"Sure you can't." She sat up, much to his dismay, and he flopped onto his back watching her. The shape of her back, how her hair fell, how she moved as she reached beneath the quilt and found the hem of her nightgown, lifting it up her body and throwing it aside.

He smiled, reaching forward to rest his palm against the base of her spine. She twisted her neck, glanced back at him.

"Good morning," he finally said, tiptoeing his fingers up her back.

"Good morning."

She easily twisted over, straddling him in one simple, smooth motion.

"Oh, _very much_ good morning." He smirked, settling his hands on her hips.

When she leant forward her breasts squashed against his upper chest and he moaned into her mouth.

"What?" She murmured against his lips, one arm resting on the pillow to support her as she balanced, her mouth hovering centimetres from his.

"You know what…" his hand was moving down her back, palm gripping her bottom.

"What?" She whispers, closing her eyes, smiling as his mouth melts against hers.

The feel of her body rolling against his erection was driving him to distraction and if she carried on then this little jaunt wouldn't last very long at all.

He lifted her up, turning them over and moving between her legs.

"Hey, that's not fair, you're stronger than I am."

"Mmm, but being here is so very nice," he smiled, leaning in to kiss her chest, up her neck, the side of her face until he could suckle on her ear.

"Very, _very_ nice," she agreed.

* * *

They lie in silence after, cuddled up, the warm sheets tangled around them, the sunlight filtering in across the bed. Elsie is dosing against Charles' chest and he strokes her back, content to be still and quiet for a while.

"Do you think we should just retire now?" He suddenly says, mind drifting through a myriad of ideas.

"Retire?" she repeats sleepily. "As in do bugger all with our time?"

"We'd do plenty. This," he kisses the top of her head, "gardening, walking, swimming. I might get to do some painting." He squeezes her waist, grinning, "more of this."

She smiles, eyes still closed, rubbing her palm across his chest. "And how would we fund this luxurious early retirement?"

"Not that early for me."

"I've got a good eight years left I'm afraid honey," she kissed his upper chest. "Nice thought though. You know," she flopped onto her back, shifting up the bed to lie beside him. "I need you to make some calls for me next week regarding the house, I need you to pester the solicitor for a completion date and the bank to make sure the funds are put in place."

"Bloody hell."

She tipped her head to the left to rest on his arm, "I'll make you a list this afternoon, you'll be fine."

"Do I have to be harsh?"

"If you don't get anywhere, don't let them put you off or bullshit you with fancy talk."

"Such a pleasant turn of phrase you have darling."

"Hmm, you love it." She slapped his leg. "Come on, get up and we'll go for a nice Sunday walk. I may even treat you to lunch."

"Lunch? I've not even had breakfast and read my papers."

"Take your papers with you." She rolled out of bed, reaching for her robe that hung by the door and putting it on before opening the curtains. "Look how beautiful the weather is, we can pack a picnic and a couple of blankets and spend the day being lazy in the sunshine."

"Nice plan." He said, stretching out on the bed.

"Well, get up then, lazy."

"I'll remind you of that tomorrow morning."

* * *

Charles twisted over the book in his hand, scanning the back before opening it up and checking the inside of the jacket, a first edition, a rare find. The price on the front was stamped as 75 pence; clearly this charity shop had no idea what they were selling. He dug around in his pocket, pulling a bunch of coppers and a five pence piece.

Sighing he glanced around for Elsie, the shop was fairly quiet but was myriad of haphazardly packed shelves and jumbled up donations. It some ways it reminded him of how his own shop used to look – before Elsie had a say in things.

He wandered around, the book safely tucked beneath his arm, until he spotted her bent down, in fact knelt down on the floor, piling items into her basket.

"What are you bulk buying?" He asked, standing over her, his shadow looming.

"Look at this," she said, holding up a bunch of pens. "Five pence each and about twenty colours, these are great for marking in. Real easy glide across the page."

"Oh my goodness!" He gasped, a hand on his chest.

"What?"

"I've just hit that point where I've realised I'm dating a teacher."

"Oh says the man with a book tucked beneath his arm."

"This is a rare find." He said, waving it at her. "These fools," he whispered, "letting it go for 75p, it's worth much more."

"It's a charity shop," she admonished, holding her hand up until he took it and helped her to het feet. "Surely you should pay more then."

"I'll donate in the pot they have on the counter, or you will, because I have about 11 pence in change."

"Freeloader."

"Pen hoarder." He teased as she jabbed him in the ribs. "Look I'll treat you to a take-away for dinner, as it's your last night of freedom."

"Seven entire weeks until I'm off again."

"What do you fancy?"

"Indian."

He scowled and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, we never have that."

"I'm not one for spicy food. It's all heat and no taste."

"That's entirely untrue, real Indian food is not all about that. Try it, I'll help you pick and when I order I'll ask them to hold back on the spice. They're nice like that."

"Alright, but I won't like it, then I'll end up having to make cheese on toast instead."

"You know what gets me about this?" Charles said, munching on a poppadum.

"_This_ as in _this_ T.V show?"

"Yes."

She looked up from her plate, reaching across the coffee table for the raita. "Yes, what then?"

"Where do they get all their bloody money from? These guys are borrowing six-hundred thousand pounds to build a house, where do they get that from, what's their job – or rather what's his job? She seems to be a housewife."

"Don't say it like that, being a 'housewife' is still a job, and a damn stressful one."

"Yes I know that, I'm not demeaning that. But I mean she isn't earning, that's my point, only one of them is earning, they've got three little kids and they're building a house from scratch – where's the money coming from?"

She picked up her wine glass, "Loans I suppose. Credit cards. You'd need guts, I'm stressing already and we haven't even signed on the dotted line."

"Let's hope that gets done this week."

"Fingers crossed."

"Getting in for Christmas…" he reached for the take-away tub near her. "What's this?"

"Rogan Josh."

"Hot?"

"Not really." She watched as he spooned more onto his plate, "You know you may have to accept that Christmas there might not happen."

He pouted, "You're banning Christmas."

"Oh don't be silly, you know what I mean."

"Not listening to that kind of talk," he ate a forkful of the curry. "We're having Christmas in that house, and a New Year party too."

"If you organise it."

"No problem. You want some more of this?" He asked, holding up another tub.

"No I'm fine, you have it, I want the naan bread though."

He handed it across. "There you go madam."

"Thank you," she muted the television as the adverts came on – it always amused him how she did it automatically, advertisements annoyed her no end - they pretty much had each other's habits down now. "It's going to be a stressful few months."

He leant back against the sofa, rubbing his rather stuffed belly as he did so. "Well, we'll just have to remember that it will come to an end. It's only temporary stress, not life-long stress."

"I'll remind you of that in six weeks time." She said getting up from the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"To make you some peppermint tea, help with your digestion." She squeezed his shoulder as she passed him. "You shouldn't eat so fast."

"I'd rather have ice cream than tea."

"Well, its tea you're getting."

As he listened to her pottering about in the kitchen, stared at the remains of their dinner on the table, the signs of their shared life all around him, he reflected on how very much he'd miss her when she went back to work. How over the past year every little bit of them had become entwined... and it felt rather wonderful to him.

* * *

**Monday**

The morning alarm is unwanted. An old friend she'd rather never see or hear from again. "I've forgotten what time I get up, what my routine is," she sighs heavily, dramatically. "I don't want to go."

He watches her as he pulls his trousers up, the way she's folded her arms in front of her pouting like a child.

"Too long off, that's your problem." He's out of bed as soon as the alarm goes, eager to make her breakfast, to make sure she leaves well-prepared for the day.

"Or not long enough." She complains, folding the pillow over her face.

"I'll turn the shower on for you shall I?"

Her reply was a murmured groan – he thinks better than to remind her of her 'lazy' comment from the previous day and instead make a pot of tea and toast and cereal. He thinks in the winter he'll make her porridge and they'll be in their new kitchen, in their own house.

"I'm going to go swimming on the way home," she says, joining him in the kitchen, taking an apple from the fridge and putting it into her schoolbag. "May not get another chance this week; first week back's always hell."

"You look tired." He said, sipping his tea. "Could be something to do with you tossing and turning all night."

"Sorry," she sat down across from him. "Kept you awake."

"You always like that before a new term?"

She shrugged, "I guess so. Suddenly, my mind is packed full of information again. And concerns and data and targets and anxieties." She laughed. "Oh yes, and sometimes you actually get to think about student names."

"So you're happy about going back then?" He grinned.

"Ecstatic!" She drained her tea in one go, got up and leant over kissing his cheek. "I'm only being sixty percent truthful. I'm kinda excited about all the new stationery."

He chuckled. "I did notice that in the store yesterday."

"I know, I'm a sucker for shiny must-have gadgets. I'm easily distracted in the classroom by the kids' stationery. Last year a student had a pencil case shaped like a milk carton."

"A milk carton?"

"A-ha, about this high, zip down here, little press-studs on the top where the carton opened. Very cool."

"You liked that student," he smiled.

"I liked her pencil case." She corrected. "The kid was alright," she added with a shrug.

"You look good," he said as she bent to retrieve her sandals from beneath the table. "I like you all casual in jeans."

"I'm a casual kinda gal don't you know. And what about this, see, picked a black top so when I hold my hand against it my ring stands out." She said, flexing her finger against her hip.

"Show off."

"Have to take my moments where I can. So, I'll be home after five I should think, maybe closer to six after the pool."

"How's that going anyway?"

"Well, the other day I thought I'd made a friend when an old lady kept smiling at me. I paused at one end to take a breath and she strikes up a conversation so I chatted along, tells me how she's 84, used to be very over-weight, now she comes to the gym four times a week, does a session up there then in the pool. 'Very impressive,' I say. Then she tells me the only reason she goes up to the gym section is in the hope some young man will wear loose fitting shorts and flash her when he's on the rowing machine, because, and I quote, 'it's been a while since I've seen one.' I didn't quite know what to say to that."

"Cheeky old minx."

"I know. I didn't have the heart to tell her they've not changed much."

"And there's nothing much to see." He teased.

"Nothing of note."

"And with that revelation," he said folding his paper, "I can start my day." He got up, bending to kiss her.

"Nothing like a chat over penises, peni, what's the plural of a penis?"

"I can't say I've ever had to think it through. Usually my concern is focused on one."

"And you, scrabble champion." She laughed. "Don't forget to check in with the builder if you can," she said as they headed downstairs, "about going to the house with us Friday afternoon. I want to get the plans drawn up."

"I'll call him. About five?"

"Yeah that's fine, see you later honey."

"Have a nice day." He said holding the door open for her.

She turned and smiled, "You used to say that to me when I was a customer. Have a nice day yourself."

"I'll try."

* * *

Despite Charles having made her tea and toast that morning she still found herself turning onto her usual route and calling into Costa for a large latte. Damn the calories. First day back after summer holidays meant she needed the caffeine.

First days back usually meant spending hours stuck in the hall listening to one LG* member after another get up to 'fill you in' on results, plans, schemes, special needs training, etc etc etc. It lasted too long, on uncomfortable chairs, and left you with a handful of paraphernalia that usually got lost somewhere between Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning.

Elsie sat on the end of the third row back, skimming through the booklet which had been left on her chair. She glanced to her right as the seat next to her was taken, finding Spratt sitting down next to her.

"Good morning," she said, as amenably as she could.

"Morning, you're looking very well."

"Thank you. As are you. Good holiday?"

"It was actually. And you? I heard you got engaged."

"I did." She blushed, she hadn't invited him to the party.

"How did he do it?"

She swallowed, reaching for her coffee which stood on the floor by her feet. "Well, I er, did it, actually." She shrugged, "Kind of a joint decision in the end I guess. We were both moving towards the same thing."

"That's lovely. You deserve it."

She was genuinely surprised by his kindness, and his interest in the matter. She'd never really wondered what her colleagues thought of her previous marriage, or Joe. Had she turned into work bearing the scars of what was going on between them? She'd always done her best to hide it, in fact work allowed her an escape.

"So anything exciting happen with you?"

"Afraid not. I've purchased a new car, that's about it."

"Wow, you'd had that car ever since I've known you."

"Time for a change. And you're buying a house too aren't you? You're all about change. Quite odd for a History teacher." He teased, chuckling.

"I know, don't point it out, I could be heading for a breakdown." She reached down for her coffee, taking a sip. "Lots of new faces around," she noted, glancing around the hall. "Who's that over there?"

"Where?"

"The rather fierce looking lady sitting in the front row."

He huffed, folding his arms over his chest. "Works in the office, finance, she's the new bursar. Denker."

"That's her name?"

"Surname."

"You've not found out her first name?"

"Not yet."

She chuckled, hiding it behind her hand.

"Nice ring."

"Thank you," she tilted her hand to take a look at it. "So, what else did you learn?"

"Her husband was German, she's divorced and has just moved back to England."

Elsie eyed him, "Goodness Spratt, you don't waste time getting the gossip."

"Spoke to her in the summer when I came in to do some work. Bit jumped up I'd say. Had the nerve to question who I was and what I was doing there."

Elsie bit the inside of her cheek, smirking as she watched Spratt glare across the room at Denker.

* * *

**A Year Ago**

Charles was whistling as he lined up the new books on the shelf beside the counter. Every September meant new titles and he enjoyed rearranging them; he used to simply go by surname, then by rating, but sometimes now he found himself arranging according to the colour of the binding – he didn't like it when they clashed.

"_When the night has come and the land is dark…_" he sang along to the radio, reaching around the counter to turn up the volume, this had always been one of his favourites.

"You sound a bit too happy this morning," Thomas said from the back door, the place Charles had sent him to if he insisted on smoking.

"A man can be happy, you know."

"Not on a Monday morning, five entire days until freedom again."

"Says the man who's hardly ever at work, what is it you do Thomas?"

"I entertain, I am the entertainer." He flicked the stub of his cigarette out into the yard and returned inside the shop.

"Entertain what, who exactly?"

"Don't make me out some kind of gigolo, this –," he indicated his torso. "Is far too expensive to purchase. And you know what I do, I organise parties."

"You _go_ to parties – there's a difference. I don't know how you scrape a living."

"Any coffee going spare?"

"In the kitchen." As Thomas disappeared he returned to his whistling. He'd put a vase of flowers on the counter a few days earlier and was now picking out the dead leaves, scattering them into the bin.

Thomas paused by the door, coffee in one hand, two biscuits in the other. The old man was surprising him.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I've told you."

"I can see that smile on your face, the air about you," he waved a biscuit at Charles, "It's a woman. This woman you've been seeing."

"Four dates." Charles exclaimed, though as much as he tried to deny the extreme emotions that small fact conjured up in him he couldn't. "Hardly eternity."

"You're enjoying it," he laughed, "you old dog."

"You don't have to revel in my discomfort."

"Oh don't be so pompous. I've never known you have a woman."

"I haven't 'had' anything."

"Not yet, but four dates, you'll be warming up."

"Don't make it lurid."

Thomas moved behind the counter, perching himself on Charles' seat and dipping his biscuit into his coffee. "Name?"

He sighed, turning away from Thomas, "Elsie," he felt the corners of his mouth twitch in pleasure as he said it.

"Pretty?"

"Beautiful."

Thomas paused in his munching, leaning back against the wall. "That's sweet." He heard Charles' dry laugh, the sarcasm in it. "I'm not being funny, I mean it. That's sweet. Nice to have you dating, you've been alone for far too long."

"That I have Thomas, we can agree on it. And she's just lovely, and I've waited a very long time for her."

The younger man nodded as he sipped his coffee, far from understanding the literal meaning of Charles' words, not just the metaphorical.

* * *

**Present Day**

Elsie left work as soon as she could, just after three she was heading into the car park, only to find it already half empty. Clearly the other staff had left as soon as the bell hit 14:30, intent to make the most of the shorter inset day. Only the upper school students would be in the following day so it was a gentle easing in rather than the full-force of a new term.

The sun was breaking through the afternoon clouds and even though it was September she could pretend it was still summer. Though she knew autumn was already staking its claim; she'd smelt it earlier the previous week, when they'd visited their new house and she'd opened an upstairs window, in what would be their bedroom, to let in some fresh air after months of it being closed up. The air had smacked her clear in the face and she'd closed her eyes and breathed in the freshness.

The fine weather made her feel energetic, eager to be out and doing something, and, as planned, she went swimming, managing fifty lengths and slimming her time from 36 minutes to 32, it was a small reduction but she was ever closer to getting down to the thirty minute mark and the challenge made her keep going back.

As she pulled in to her spot towards the rear of the shop she reflected on the fact that doing this exercise over the past few weeks hadn't caused her to lose weight, but she did feel better for it. Tighter, perhaps. Certainly her muscles ached, especially when she got out of bed in a morning, her back reminded her that she'd done some work.

Carrying her things upstairs she by-passed the entrance to the shop, Anna was behind the counter serving and she headed up to search for Charles. The distinct sound of the cricket commentator came from the lounge and she found him laid out on the sofa, a glass of water in his hand, still in his cycling gear.

"Hi," she said, and he barely looked round.

"Hi sweetheart, was it alright?"

"Yes I guess so," she left her things by the door and came up behind him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Ugh, you're all sweaty."

"Only been back ten minutes, I'll take a shower in a minute."

"Cycling on a Monday afternoon?" She stated, moving round to sit in the chair at the far end of the sofa.

"Anna told me to take the afternoon off, it was quiet and I was boring her."

"Never."

"I could tell. If I'm not there she can sketch, she thinks I don't know."

"Beneficial for you both."

"Absolutely."

She glanced at the television screen; she still knew nothing of cricket, her understanding remained severely limited.

"Want to go out for dinner tonight?" She asked lightly, "Just go to a pub or something."

"Sounds good." He cleared his throat, "Should we er, invite Anna?"

"Of course." She uncrossed her legs, "I'll pop down and ask her."

"Els…" he said when she was halfway to the door.

"Hmm."

"And John?"

He heard her stop, pause for a moment and consider.

"Els?"

"Yes. Alright."

* * *

Anna was overjoyed that she and John were being asked out for dinner, even though it was only a casual meal at a local pub in some way it felt like they were moving towards acceptance.

She left early, to nip home and change, and left Elsie cashing up – a task she was becoming familiar with.

Charles was showered and back watching the cricket by the time she got upstairs.

"Hey," she complained, leaning over the side of the couch and draping her arms over his shoulders. "I'm down there doing your job and you're up here lazing about."

"Watching cricket is a serious business I'll have you know."

She kissed his cheek, moving her head round until she bit lightly on his ear.

"Ow!"

"That was for being pompous."

"Long time since I've been called that." He turned his head slightly, enough to kiss her smile. "Do I smell better now?"

"Much better. Can you tear yourself away long enough for us to go out now? I need some wine."

"Sure, but only because it's you." He pointed the remote at the television and turned it off, bounding to his feet.

"I'm not entirely sure if I'd win were we to measure your love for cricket against your love for me." She said, as she hooked her bag over her shoulder and headed off down the hallway.

"Don't be silly darling," he pinched her bottom, "you just have the edge."

* * *

Luckily, Elsie had consumed the majority of a large glass of wine by the time Anna and John arrived, softening her demeanour somewhat. She and Charles had sat outside, under the shade of an overhanging tree, catching the last vestiges of summer before it ebbed away.

They were holding hands across the table as the younger couple arrived and Charles got up, ever the gentlemen, helping Anna to slide onto the bench. He dug out his wallet, took their order and headed back inside to get drinks.

"So, did you drive?" Elsie asked, chewing down on her bottom lip.

"Edith dropped us off, she was coming into town anyway, we begged a lift. We can get a cab back." Anna said, slipping off her jacket and sliding her sunglasses onto her head, pushing her hair back just as her mother had.

"You walked?" John asked. His hands were folded atop of the table, and he was nervously fiddling, rubbing his thumbs together.

He was handsome, Elsie could see that, darkly handsome, he had that kind of laid-back, slightly naughty look about him – something stereotypical that she would never have thought her smart, slightly reserved and sensible daughter would go for in a man.

"We did, figured we'd make the most of the fine weather before it disappears for good."

"So Charles was on the phone for ages today with the solicitor – did he get anywhere?" Anna asked.

"Possibly sign next week, I hope they decide soon though. Not that we'll be moving for a while but at least we can get started on the renovations…" Charles returned, placing drinks on the table and sitting beside Elsie. "The sooner the better, the longer we wait the more dreaming he does – it started out as just a wall in the kitchen being removed to give it more of a square shape, now we're branching out to the hall and lounge and spare bedroom that should have en suite." She reached beneath the table to squeeze his leg. "He's addicted to Grand Designs and keeps recording segments of shows that offer inspiration!"

"Hey, correct me if I'm wrong but if you stayed over at somebody's house you'd feel better having an en suite, even a small one, just a sink and a loo if need be, to use, wouldn't you?"

"I guess it's better than disturbing anyone should you need the toilet in the night." John agreed.

"Exactly. I would think that somebody like you Els, up and down three times a night with your bladder, would have appreciated that."

"Hey! Don't tell the world!" They laughed as she slapped his knee.

"I remember that well. She stayed over at University with me once, we shared my double bed down there and she woke me in the early hours with an almighty crash when she tripped over my roommates project in the other room. We were all up then!"

"Oh god, she'd built this mini… what was it again?"

"Buildings of the world."

"That was it. Miles long, laid out in the hallway, these little, mini buildings – Taj Mahal, Pyramids and the like, and I go headfirst over it."

"She had a great red line right down her forehead!" Anna slid her finger down her head to exemplify and they all laughed, Elsie pressing her head against the table to hide her embarrassment.

"That poor girl." Charles said.

"Which one?" Anna asked. "Me or my friend Claire. She was devastated though polite with it."

"The English way," John remarked.

Elsie wiped her eyes. "I forget, you've only just moved over here haven't you?"

"Well, I used to live in London for a while, when I was younger." He said guardedly.

"You can say it," Anna reassured, pressing her hand over his, "we're none of us stupid – we all know you were married."

Charles gripped his beer glass and glanced to the tree above as he took a drink.

"Yes, well, when I was married I lived in London. It was a rush, a mistake, I was a silly boy who thought marrying a fairly rich girl would get me out of Ireland and make my life better."

"We can all make mistakes," Elsie said, gently - reflecting on her own 'silly mistake' to get away from her parents' house.

Charles refilled her wineglass, "Shall we order food?"

The conversation was quiet over dinner; brief comments on how good things were, on Elsie's first day back at work, Charles' increased income since the renovations.

"What are you doing at the moment, John?" Elsie asked, placing her cutlery on the plate. "For work I mean."

"Erm," John swallowed the potato he was chewing. "Well, bar work mostly, but that's only until I can find something better. Just to keep the money coming in so we can pay the rent."

"We?" She asked, folding her hands on the table, her mouth suddenly dry as she directed her speech toward Anna. "You told me you were living with Edith."

"I am."

"So, you need John to help pay your rent. I'll help, if you're struggling, you ask me – I am your mum."

Anna sighed, suddenly her appetite gone. "That's not how he means it…"

For a moment Elsie sucked on her bottom lip, feeling Charles tense beside her, watching him push away his plate, empty save for the salad laid out along one side. "You didn't say he was living there too."

"Mum…" Anna says lowly, embarrassed, annoyed by her mother's tone. "Don't be rude."

"But he is? _He is_ living with you. That's the case, isn't it?"

"Yes, he is."

Elsie glanced away, across to people on other tables, to two children chasing each other about with plastic swords.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry, or get angry." Anna said forcefully.

"Angry?" She sucked in air between her teeth. "Perhaps not. But I thought we shared everything."

"We do."

"But not this?"

"I'm telling you now. Mum I can't be what you want…"

"Don't be silly, you are what I want." She reached over to squeeze Anna's hands. "I just…"

"You just don't want me to throw my life away, I know, but I'm not. I'm not stupid. I was raised by you for goodness sake, so I'm not going to go too far wrong."

Elsie sat back, one hand still stretched out across the table towards her daughter, one hand fiddling with the stem of her glass.

She felt Charles' hand reach to rest on her back, his thumb drawing circles across her skin.

"Look, Mrs Hughes," John said. "Elsie… I'm not going to let her down. I know that's what you think. But I won't. We're in this together."

Elsie finally shifted her gaze to the man beside her daughter, taking in his earnest expression. Shrugging she let out the breath she'd been holding, "I don't mean to come across as rude."

"It's not ideal being with Edith, the two of us," he continued. "Not fair on her neither, but now that Charles has offered us the flat we can have our own space…"

"He's what?"

"Oh shit," Anna murmured into her glass, cursing John for his stupidity.

Suddenly, Elsie's glare shifted to the man sitting beside her, the man whose hand appears to have frozen on her shoulder blade.

"You've done what?"

"It was just an idea," he said softly. "A suggestion. Seems silly to leave the flat empty when we could have paying tenants. Come on Els…"

"No." she slammed her napkin onto the table. "Don't Els me, you know how I feel about this and you're offering to make it _easier_ for them."

"What do you want me to do?" His voice had hardened too. "Make it _harder_ for them? I care for her as much as you do."

"Do you?" She struggled to get to her feet, lifting her legs out of the confined space of the bench and reaching for her handbag from the floor. "You care as much as I do?"

"Elsie." Charles droned, dropping his napkin beside hers.

"Bloody men, always know best, well if you know best then you carry on making plans behind my back. You can do it all."

"Mum, that's not what we were doing. You're being silly."

"You're meant to share everything with me. Both of you. And somehow I end up being the one cut out. Well fine, go right ahead."

She stomped across the beer garden and back inside to the pub, "Elsie!" he called after her, getting up quickly and opening his wallet, "Here, pay the bill."

"Sorry mate, I didn't mean to…"

"Yeah I know. She had to know, just maybe in a gentler way. I'll talk to her." He squeezed Anna's arm before he chased after her.

* * *

Charles scanned the pub for Elsie but there was no sign; his eyes seemed to fail as he searched and headed outside, the fading sunshine blinding him.

In a half jog he finally caught sight of her sitting on a bench in the town gardens. He remembered months ago sitting in that very spot sharing fish and chips and flirting outrageously.

Silently, he slipped onto the seat beside her. Giving her a few moments before he reached over and placed his hand on hers.

It was cooling as the evening drew in and he shifted closer to her, eventually lifting his arm up and around her shoulders until she leant her head against him. Above him the sky was tranquil, pale blue and orange clouds, above it an inky blue stain easing in as night moved over.

"Come on darling," he said lightly. "Everything's alright. Look at that beautiful sky above us, think of everything we've got, all we've got to be grateful for. Happy, healthy, this love we've found, and Anna is happy, she really is…

"She's an adult," she interrupted. "An adult… and I can't control her anymore."

"Is that what you want to do? Control her?" He said gently, placing a kiss to her head.

"Not in a negative way. Not how you might think." She groaned, sitting back, rolling her neck, suddenly she seemed to have a headache. "You see all her life all I had to do was protect her. I controlled where she went, who she saw, how much she knew…about me, about her father. I never wanted her to be in the position I was in, I wanted her to be independent, to travel, to experience life."

He nodded, stroking her shoulder. "Yes, I understand that, and she does. But you can't control her, you can't stop her – she is living her life, and he's not so bad."

She let out a sharp breath, "No, but he isn't what I imagined for her."

He chuckled, "Maybe not, but maybe the millionaire brain surgeon is just around the corner."

"And you," she said gently, twisting her head to look at him. "How come you didn't tell me this _plan_?"

"It really wasn't like that. I was trying to help," he rolled his eyes, "somehow whenever I try to help it goes tits up."

She widened her eyes and shook her head.

"He mentioned they were looking to rent a place together but what they'd seen was cheap rubbish. So, I told John not to rush into anything, to hang about in case we were moving soon and then they could have our place. At least we know its safe and secure and she's close by, right above the shop."

She sighed again.

"And yes, I know you're not happy about the either, but at least she has a job. And you know I won't be working forever, it's either sell it or pass it on…"

"A successor?" She said lightly, amused by the brightness in his eyes. "You see Anna as taking over the shop as some sort of successor?"

"Well, it's hardly a grand establishment I know, but yes, it's been in the family for years, I'd be sad to see it go to strangers. I'd like to keep it in the family, and she's my family, you are." He squeezed her close to him. "And I would never deliberately keep anything from you, nor hurt you."

"Yes. I know." She pressed her face against his chest.

"So, maybe a phone call, assure her it's okay."

"Maybe something less embarrassing." She reached into her bag for her phone and opened a text. "_Sweetheart, I'm sorry for overreacting, I'm still getting used to you not being my little girl anymore! I'm happy for you to have the flat…and John seems nice enough. Forgive me? xx_"

"Well?" She said, glancing up at him.

"Well…" he smiled, "I'd forgive you. Can I walk you home?"

"Any time."

* * *

**_Ah the perils of domesticity... Thanks for all your wonderful support with this. Please let me know you're still hanging in there with them, we still have a way to go! X_**


	35. Chapter 35

_Took me ages to work out the ending of this one... ..._

**Chapter 35**

**Fridays**

"The thing is," Anna said, crossing her legs and sitting back awkwardly in the leather chair, "I often feel like I'm on a pedestal –,"

"I'd never want you to feel that," Elsie interrupted.

"Elsie, let Anna speak at the moment." The therapist, Doctor Bloom, commentated.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm sorry." She momentarily covered her mouth.

"I know you don't, maybe it's just in my head, maybe I created it, but that doesn't mean it's not real. I feel like I have to perform a certain way – I have to be successful for Dad, independent and self-sufficient for you…"

Elsie swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes stinging.

"What are you thoughts on that Elsie?"

She opened her mouth, twisted her tongue around in an attempt to moisten her palate, "That I'm a bad parent, that I've put pressures upon my daughter which I shouldn't have. That my own weaknesses, my own judgements upon myself – feebleness and dependency – I've transferred to her. I don't want you to feel like you have to live up to any expectations for me. Or your father."

"I feel I should protect you from him, that I should have…back then. And you're not a bad parent, you're the best parent."

Elsie smiled, sitting forward in her chair and reaching across to squeeze Anna's knee. "That's not your job, to take care of me, it's not your job. I never want you to dwell upon any of that, nor shut your father out because I have. What happened is between us, not you, if you want him in your life I understand that, I would never judge for it."

"You're honestly telling me you wouldn't be angry or disappointed that he's still getting to see me despite what he's done to you?"

She swallowed again, god this stuff was tough. "Honestly? No, I can't say that. Of course it hurts. Of course it makes me angry that he seemingly gets away with just easily walking away from me with no scars, no mental barriers to other relationships… but that's MY feelings towards him, not yours, and I would never try to prevent you having a relationship with him, if that's what you want." She shrugged. "But, if we're being honest, I'd rather not hear about it."

Anna nodded her head, "I get that. And maybe I will see Dad every now and then for a catch up but he isn't 'in' my life, you are, you know you're the person I'm closest to. The person I want to share things with… I don't want you to feel you have to like John, but I don't want to feel nervous, even scared, every time I bring him over."

Elsie huffed, folded her arms defensively. "Oh, I don't want you to be scared. You're not scared of me?"

"No… Your… Judgement, I guess."

"That's silly. You're my daughter and I love you no matter what. I always will…. …you know, all your life all I ever wanted to do was keep you safe, make sure you were protected and had a great life no matter what."

"And I know that, and I can't ever tell you how grateful I am."

"Sometimes I find it difficult to let go, to let you make the decisions – I still need to protect you. I recognise that, and I'm trying to stop myself stepping in Anna, I really am."

Anna smiled, "I know." She shrugged, "And I know you're disappointed, maybe even a bit fucked off, you've spent all this money on my education and I'm back home, house sharing, working in your boyfriend's…"

"Fiancé's."

"Fiance's…" she grinned, "…shop. I should be travelling the world or working in some fancy gallery, I know."

"It doesn't make me think less of you, but yes, I guess I'm a little disappointed, but I wouldn't force you into a job you don't want."

They both paused, exhausted by the outpouring of emotions and sharing.

"How do you feel about your mother's new relationship, Anna?"

"Oh my goodness it's great, it really is. It's so good to see her happy and settled, because I think you are now, aren't you, the two of you?"

Elsie nodded, rubbing the underneath of her engagement ring with her thumb.

"He's a wonderful man and I think he's been great for mum, so supportive and gentle and kind – she needed that, somebody to be patient with her and just let her work through things."

"And you, Elsie, you feel things are settled? Last time we met was before your engagement party and you were incredibly anxious about things."

"Yes. I remember we talked about failure."

Anna frowned; she'd never noticed these anxieties.

"I was worried the party would be a failure, that I'd misjudge it all…. And…"

"And?"

She knitted her hands together, "And the wider issue around failure," she indicated Anna with her hand. "Failing as a mother. Failing in this relationship, failing Charles and losing him and ending up alone."

"Do you still feel anxious about that?"

"No. Well, not to the extent I did a couple of months ago. I think every day I feel more secure, and every 'new' thing we go through as a couple, that helps settle me – right now we're sharing our normal routine for the first time. Living together and getting used to the boring things; what time each of us gets up for work, he's getting used to me working in the evenings and sharing the domestic chores. It's not the all-consuming passion and romance of the summer holidays or trips abroad," she shrugged, "but it's nice, maybe even 'nicer' because I feel security coming from it." She felt her cheeks redden when she realised she'd just said all that with Anna listening. "I'm sorry, this is meant to be a session about us."

"I don't mind," Anna smiled. "Why didn't you talk to me, about this anxiety?"

"Because I'm a grown woman and you have enough to deal with."

"Elsie," the Doctor interrupted. "We've spoken before about how it doesn't matter your age or…"

Elsie waved her hand, "Yes, I know, I'm sorry. It's just sometimes I feel I'm fifty-one, almost fifty-two, and I should have everything sorted. Everything stable."

"Shit mum, I don't think anybody's life is ever like that."

They both laughed and Elsie glanced up to the clock, "I'd say we've gone over our time slightly."

"I feel like we've only just got started," Anna said, uncurling her legs from beneath her and pressing her feet into the carpet. "Weird experience."

"It can be, you're welcome to come back though Anna, if you're happy with that Elsie?"

"Of course. We can arrange something, maybe in a few weeks or something…"

Anna looped her arm through her mum's as they got outside; the afternoon sun was warming and bright and Elsie rummaged about in her handbag until she found her sunglasses.

"So, you want to go get a drink or something?" Elsie asked. "I could treat you to dinner, that place you like in town that does the platter thing?"

"Ooh nice, yes, I'll text John from the car and say I'll be later back. Is Charles expecting you?"

"He won't mind, I think he was playing tennis after work, something Richard's roped him into. I said I'd pop in towards the end if I could."

Anna glanced at her watch, "It's only just after 5:30."

"Never too early for a glass of wine." Elsie assured her, and they set off towards the car.

* * *

Elsie watched her daughter over the top of her glass as she scanned the menu; if it were even imaginable it seemed to her that she was older than when they'd travelled down to join her at her summer ball. The end of University. Now, as she looked back, it seemed to her it really was the end of Anna's youth. She was a woman now – a smart, beautiful, hardworking woman – and there was still a place for Elsie in her life, but it was quite a different one.

"Decided?" She asked, as Anna closed the menu and looked up.

"Yes. Sticking with the platter. I'm starving though so can we get one of those buckets of skinny fries for the side?"

"Absolutely. Let's get the veggie platter and the Italian one and split them."

"I like your thinking."

Anna folded her hands on top of her menu, reaching for her lemonade as she glanced across at her mum.

"You alright?"

"I am. Are you?"

"Sort of. It's a bit of an odd experience really isn't it, diving into all these things with a stranger."

"It is. And once you start 'diving' you can't seem to stop. One thing leads to another. I often come out feeling like things aren't finished, like I've only just touched upon something. But then you get used to it, to the routine, and I go back every week and we pick up on things…" She shrugged. "It's helped. I'm sleeping better. It's certainly helped my relationship with Charles develop."

"He seems tired, is he okay?"

"Frantic about the house, now we have the keys and he's getting to work with the builders…" she shook her head. "If he isn't at work then he's there watching them smash down walls, which only stresses him out."

"Think you'll be there for Christmas?"

"I hope so! Otherwise he'll be a nightmare to live with. That's his dream."

"Does he realise what a nightmare _you_ get during the festive period?"

Elsie smiled as she swallowed her wine, "I'm going to do my best to remain calm and joyful. You will come over won't you, for Christmas I mean, stay for a few days."

"Do I get my own room?"

"I've already marked out the attic suite for you, Charles would only bang his head up there and it means you've got your own bathroom, and space to relax when you're bored of us."

"That's very generous, considering I'll be taking the flat from you too."

"Hmm."

"What's that mean?"

Elsie shook her head.

"Mum! What?"

"Are we ready to order girls?" The waiter asked, he looked nothing more than a 'boy' himself and Elsie sniggered internally at the thought of being regarded as a girl.

"We are indeed," she stated, and quickly ordered their food.

"So?" Anna said as soon as he'd gone. "What's the 'hmm' about?"

"Nothing, I just worry that…" her phone rang on the table and she slid her hand over it, answering the call and mouthing 'Charles' to Anna. "Hi honey, how's it going? Oh good, I'm pleased. We've just ordered dinner so I'll be a while yet…"

Anna fiddled with her napkin, folding the edges together and pressing it until it was smooth and precise.

"He alright?" She asked as Elsie dropped her phone into her bag.

"Fine, mid-way through and they're winning so he's happy. It doesn't take much."

"So, will you _now_ tell me why you don't want me to move in with John?"

Sighing, Elsie refilled their wine glasses, mentally noting she couldn't have anymore. "It's not that, it's that I worry once you're there and working in the shop and Charles is away from it… he's considering retirement, he mentions it more and more, and you…" She held her palms up and shrugged. "He sees you as somebody to take over the shop and I worry he has hopes pinned on that and perhaps your hopes are different."

"Maybe. But perhaps John's aren't, he could do it, if Charles really wanted someone to take it on."

"He wants you sweetheart, you're his surrogate daughter, his successor."

"Bloody hell, three parents to please."

Elsie laughed, "I'm sure that whatever you did Charles would be happy, it's been quite a revelation to see how quickly he's adapted to this 'family unit'. When I knew him before, when he was just the 'book store owner', he was so reclusive and shy. Awkwardly shy at times." She watched Anna's face, and despite her maturity there was still that baby there, Elsie's little girl. She reached across and held her hand, patting it, her engagement ring tapping Anna's knuckle. "Just be absolutely sure of what you want. Before you do anything hasty."

* * *

Sneaking into the club Elsie gripped her handbag across her chest. It was rowdy and warm inside and people were gathered around in groups chatting.

Her head was spinning; a mixture of the therapy session and her dinner with Anna. Just when she thought she'd buried all memory of Joe into some deep recess he found a way to crawl back into her consciousness and she hated that.

She heard Charles before she saw him. Holding court as he told a story and those around laughed. The shy, almost uncertain man who'd nervously asked her out over a year ago, had almost vanished now and she loved to see him free like this, completely at ease with himself and his surroundings.

Coming up behind him she rested her hand low on his back and he turned his head just slightly to greet her, his arm sliding around her waist as he placed a kiss to her head.

She waved hello to the people she knew and leant in against Charles' side; he was warm and soft and she wished they were at home so she could snuggle into him and take a nap.

"Elsie, you're here." Laura said, coming over with two glasses of red wine and handing one to Charles. "I'll go get you a drink."

"No, it's fine really, I'm driving. How are you?"

"Really good actually, just bought myself a gorgeous new car – little red sporty number – and on the lookout for a gorgeous young man to join me in it."

Elsie bit her lip, her smile stretching her face, "How perfectly lovely." She felt Charles' fingers curling into her back.

"God that ring," Laura stated, reaching to grab Elsie's hand, "so stunning, it suits you too."

"Thank you, I'm used to it now, was a little weighty to begin with."

"You never told me that," Charles said, squeezing her waist.

"You never asked. Just wait til I've got a gold band on your finger, I bet you find it odd."

"In more ways than one," Laura interjected. "Anyway, I must go." She drained the wine from her glass, leant forward and kissed Charles' cheek. "Well done on the win darling, good to see you again Elsie."

"Always a pleasure." She smiled, watching the younger lady saunter off. "Bloody bitch." She whispered between gritted teeth.

"Els…"

"Well, 'in more ways than one', what's that mean?"

He turned her in his arms, "It means she's crap at relationships so can't imagine one that works as perfectly as ours." He placed a quick kiss to her forehead, "Now, let's get going, I'm hungry and was hoping you'd get me chips on the way home."

"Didn't you eat here?"

"Few lousy sandwiches." He shrugged.

"I feel rude, I haven't even spoken to your friends."

"Richard and Izzy aren't here." He said finishing his wine.

"They aren't?"

"Babysitting their grandchild, Richard left as soon as the match was over."

"I guess some things are more important than hobnobbing with your rich friends."

"Ha ha. Come on, let's go, I need food."

"This is their eldest son's child?" She asked as she followed him out of the room.

He nodded, "Tommy, almost eighteen months now I think. Cute little thing."

"Aw, I'd like to meet him."

Charles wrinkled his nose, "I'm not much good with kids."

"So you say."

"I guess we'd could call over this weekend, I think they've got him until Sunday. I'll call and see. Now," he said as they got outdoors. "I want to hear how the session with Anna went, if you're up to talking about it."

"Sure. Friday night, what else is there to do?" She hooked her arm through his.

"Well, we've got the planning application to read through it we want to extend the kitchen."

"And do we?" She asked, digging about in her bag for her car keys.

"We do."

"Could be a late night then."

* * *

**One Week Later**

Pouring a large glass of Rose and tiptoeing from the kitchen to the lounge Elsie hummed to herself as she turned on the television. It was Friday night and she had the flat to herself.

Charles was attending a meeting at the cricket club and she'd gone swimming after work, taken a long shower when she got in and ordered pizza. It almost felt like being single again – though with the added security of knowing he wouldn't be too late in and she certainly wouldn't be going to bed alone.

Slipping off her robe she laid out three different bottles of body cream on the coffee table and flicked through the television channels until she found Emmerdale. It had been a while since she'd watched it and it was definitely the staple of her girly night in.

Taking a gulp of her wine she propped her foot up on the coffee table and took the first bottle of cream, squirting it down her shin and beginning to rub it in with slow, measured movements.

* * *

Charles stored his bike in the shed in the back yard and made his way inside, easing off his helmet as he climbed the stairs up to the flat.

"Hiya," he called as he went in, leaving his helmet on the side table and kicking off his shoes.

"Hi. You're back early."

"Disaster," he called back, "apparently the date was changed and somebody forgot to send the email out to all members so a handful of us were standing outside like lemons." He poured himself a glass of wine and headed into the lounge.

"Woah! What the bloody hell is going on here?" He gasped, stopping by the door and admiring her naked form.

She giggled, "Porn, _live_ in your living room."

"I did wonder," he flopped into his chair, propping his legs up on the coffee table and grinning at her. "Carry on."

"Pervert."

"Yep."

She finished off rubbing cream into her legs and flicked the lid back on the bottle.

"Why do you have so many different types?"

"This one," she held it up, "is fake tan, to try and hang on to summer." Putting it down she picked up a smaller bottle, "Now this, is to keep my breasts firm – apparently."

He licked his lips, "Very important."

"Very." She deliberately took her time squeezing the cream onto her breasts and then massaging it in in a slow, rhythmic movements with her palms.

"So Els…"

"Shush," she insisted, pointing at the TV, "you're interrupting my show."

Smiling he took a sip of his wine; she was certainly more entertaining than any television show.

"I didn't realise the effort women had to go to," he said when she muted the television for the adverts.

"I've been swimming four times this week, my skin's so dry I feel I need to be rehydrated."

"You've swam more often than we've had sex in the last three weeks."

"Oh poor dear, am I leaving you to suffer…?" She sauntered to his chair, leaning over him, amused by how his eyes widened in admiration. "Should I make it up to you?"

"Oh, please do."

Before she could kiss him they were interrupted by the intercom buzzing in the hall.

"Ooh, that's my pizza, go pay him would you please honey, I've left the money on the table by the door."

"Jumped up little teen interrupting us," he said getting to his feet, "I was just about to get laid."

"Charles!" She admonished, throwing a pillow after him.

By the time he returned – balancing the pizza box on one hand and the bottle of wine in the other – she'd finished covering her body in lotion and was wearing her robe again and clearing the coffee table.

"Here you go madam."

"Thank you, thank you."

He placed it down for her and she quickly lifted the lid, letting out the steam.

"Smells good." He observed, settling in his chair again.

"Look at you, salivating. Weren't you meant to be eating at the meeting?"

"I was looking forward to the fish and chips they order in…" he pouted.

She pushed the box across the table to him, "Help yourself."

"You're so kind."

"A-ha," she nodded, sipping her wine. "God that's good, and needed."

"Tough week?"

"I've forgotten I even had a summer break." She lifted another slice of pizza to her mouth, "And some bitch woman had a go at me today, which was both embarrassing and annoying."

"What hell for?"

She huffed, swallowing. "I missed an email, forgot to do something, so she bollocked me for it. She's under pressure too which I get but it certainly didn't make my day enjoyable."

"You're right, total bitch, come work for me – I may not pay great but I won't bollock you for missing an email."

She chuckled, "That's for certain." She refilled their wine glasses, "Bugger it, let's get drunk and fool around."

"Oh anytime," he knocked his glass against hers.

When they'd finished the pizza she fetched another bottle of wine from the fridge and settled herself in his lap.

"Comfy, comfy chair," she smiled, kissing his cheek.

"Who knew it was meant for two?"

"You know, I've seen these so called 'love seats', it's like a wider chair, we should get one for the new house."

"And lose this old thing?" He patted the arm of the chair.

"Oh never, we can have this in your reading room, and the 'love-chair' in the lounge."

"So am not the only one making plans?" He snuggled his nose into her hair, kissing her head.

"I thought I better start considering things, now that we actually own it."

"Starting to get excited about moving in?"

"Absolutely."

"Me too. First thing Monday I'm taking a sledgehammer and taking out that blasted kitchen wall."

"God please don't, we're at the solicitors at 9:00 to discuss the planning application. I don't want to be smashing things down before we have consent to."

"Good point, maybe we should just go there and make love."

She smiled, "I'll kiss you in every room, no more, especially as the builders will be there taking out the old kitchen units. Did you ask them about that wall in the lounge, whether it's possible to cover the stone?"

"You know the point of buying an old stone building was to enjoy the stone?"

"I know that," she settled her head against his chest. "But there's a bit too much of said stone in the lounge."

"As you'll be there on Monday you can ask them yourself."

"You know I've got to be back for lunch, I'm teaching all afternoon, I had to beg the morning off."

"I know." He slid his fingertips back and forth up her arm. "You nice and comfy curled up there are you?"

"Mmm, I am."

"Nice to have a Friday night alone together, we seem to have missed each other the past few weeks."

"That's the joy of being back at work and being constantly exhausted. You know I need to warn you, the closer we get to Christmas the more short-tempered I'll become."

"Noted. We can hibernate over the break. Are you wanting to go away for New Year, like last year?"

"I think it'd be nice to just spend time in our new home."

"I was hoping you'd say that. You know as soon as we can get out of here the better, I'm sure Anna and John will feel the same."

Elsie groaned, "Let's not rush."

"Come on, you did say you were happy for them to have it."

"And I am," she sat back again, so she could look at him. "But still, they've barely been together two months. And moving in together?" She shrugged.

"I know. But then we've only been together thirteen months and getting married…"

"Almost fourteen months," she smiled, watching as he folded his hand with hers.

"Well yes, but still…"

"When did you become the relaxed, easy-going handsome one?"

He tilted his head to one side, waggling his eyebrows at her, "Just comes naturally to me."

She lifted her hand up to his face, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling him to her, "Come here then, naturally handsome guy."

"Ohhh thank god! I thought you were going to fall asleep on me again."

"Not just yet, maybe in twenty minutes or so…" She teased, closing her eyes just a second before pressing her lips to his.

He moaned almost immediately and gripped her tighter to him. She giggled, "You're so wanton."

"Stop talking," he said, slipping his hands into her robe, "wasting time."

She yelped as his mouth covered her nipple, flopping back on his arm which supported her back.

"Charles…"

"Yes baby." He mumbled against her skin, rolling his body forward as he almost consumed her.

She laughed, her hands gripping his shoulders. "You just used the banned word."

"You're still talking."

"You _just_ used the banned word!" She repeated.

"And I might use it again."

"Wait, wait…" she stumbled from his lap and to her feet. "That wasn't entirely comfortable… what are you…?" She laughed again as he stripped off his clothes in less than ten seconds and flopped back into the chair. "Ready now are you?"

He held his arms aloft, his hands beckoning, "Come here then… _baby_."

"Oh you're just using that voice to be sexy and turn me on." She shed her robe, throwing it to the couch.

"And aren't you?"

"I can see very well that you are…" She moved to sit in his lap again, this time facing him, giggling as they stumbled about like two awkward teenagers. "Best idea?"

"It will be," one of his hands was on her back, the other gripping her bottom, "just bend your legs that way."

"What if they're not meant to bend _that_ way?"

She rested her hand on the back of the chair, his hands supporting her as she moved and curled her legs around him, pressing her groin into his – at which he moaned again; he was very vocal tonight, she mused.

Soon need for words was gone, and the only sounds filling the small lounge were of their shared pleasure. Charles used to think of sex as a luxury – a luxury if he got it! When he was nothing but a youth and desperate for some young lady to notice him, let alone allow him to touch her. In time he'd learnt it was a luxury because it felt like the most precious gift was being bestowed upon him, and with Elsie it was everything he'd thought the term 'making love' must refer to.

When she rolled her hips against him – leaning back, supported by his strong-arms – the ends of her hair tickled the tops of his legs, the sensation of it in contrast to the heat and soft tightness of her body.

"You feel so good," he breathed, mouth open, head tilted back, gasping for air.

She was smiling as she moved to kiss him, holding onto his shoulders as her body rose and fell on his, "You do too." The look on his face was so blissful, and it touched her to know she could make him feel this way – as he could her. Certainly despite the fourteen months they weren't out of the honeymoon period yet, something she couldn't have been happier about.

He didn't just moan or groan his pleasure; he yelled it, for the world to hear, and his enthusiasm hastened her own climax.

"So," she smiled, nudging his nose with hers, delighting in the wonderful satisfied grin upon his face. "Happy now?"

"Very. Sorry about the volume."

"You _were_ quite loud."

"Seemed like an eternity since we last enjoyed the pleasure."

She rolled her eyes, playing with his hair. "And what's with all the baby business?"

He shrugged, his eyes still closed, "Felt playful."

"Hmm," she was placing kisses across his face. "Feeling playful again?"

He opened his eyes, noting the naughty twinkle in hers, "God I love you." He said, scooping her up and laying her back on the floor.

"You may continue to do so." She teased, locking her legs around him.

* * *

**Two weeks later**

Shutting the shop early was not something Charles easily did, he didn't like to let his customers down and besides he was a man of routine and sticking precisely to times was an essential part of that.

So when Anna had asked him if they could close up early he was both uncomfortable and concerned. He did it purely because of the look in her eyes when she'd asked – fearing his brother had done what he'd always expected and broken the poor girl's heart.

If so, he was partly relieved that the whole messy was done with, and partly worried, this meant no brother at the wedding – though it did mean choosing a best man would be a whole lot easier.

His concerns on that front were soon appeased when John appeared at five sharp, tapping on the glass and waiting for Charles to let him in.

"What's going on?" He asked, as he bolted the door again. "What are you doing here?"

"Charming."

"Yes well, when Anna said we needed to have a serious talk I thought it was about you screwing up."

"Good to know I'm well thought of."

"You know what I mean. This thing is still… well, you've not known her long."

"I told you I'm not going anywhere, I've made that promise to you, but more importantly, to her."

"Hmm," Charles moved back behind the counter to continue cashing up. "Well, I booked a table for seven. So let's have no drama before that, whatever it is we've all got to meet up to talk about."

"Where is Anna?"

"Upstairs making a pot of tea, I'll be up in a minute."

* * *

"I thought we were going out for dinner to celebrate the end of term," Elsie said as she came upstairs to find Charles and John sitting at the kitchen table, the designs for the house laid out between them. Anna was rinsing cups in the sink, detached from the conversation.

"Hi darling," Charles said, piling the plans together.

"Hi. So, what's going on?" She asked, setting her bag down. "Why are we all so glum faced, tell me the builders haven't taken down a wall they shouldn't have?"

"Nothing like that," Charles assured her.

"I wanted to talk to you both," Anna said, dropping the dishcloth to the counter. "We did."

"Oh?" Elsie did her best to hide the tremble from her voice. She knew her daughter, she sensed when things were wrong, and she feared where the conversation was going.

"Don't tell me you need the flat sooner," Charles said, keeping his voice light. "Because I can tell you now that with all we want doing to this place," he pointed at the plans on the table. "We won't be in for a year."

"God, don't say that Charles." Elsie rested her hands on his shoulders, pressing down heavily, more to support herself than him. "When the heating and water pipes are in we can move in, live in two rooms if we need to."

"I guess so, we're somehow squashed into this flat." He reached up to pat her hand.

"So," Elsie said, "why are we all gathered in the kitchen and the shop shut early? Not just to greet me home from work I'm guessing."

"No mum." Anna held her gaze for a while, her face set, her hands gripping the counter. "Try to keep your cool mother."

"About…?" She swallowed. "Anna, you're scaring me." She glanced at John but he was staring at his folded hands on the table. "Anna. Are you ill?"

"No. I'm going to have a baby."

It was Charles who spoke first, well, shouted. "You're what?" He gasped, getting up so quickly from his chair he knocked Elsie back. "You fucking idiot!" He spat at John.

"Charles!" Elsie exclaimed, he hardly ever swore.

"I told you to be careful with her."

"It's hardly just his fault," Anna said.

"He's old enough to know better." He replied, then switched to John. "You're old enough to know better! Damn you!" He raked a hand through his hair, "She's only just finished her degree."

Anna stared past him to Elsie who stood motionless by the door, one hand covering her mouth as she watched the scene play out.

"Mum?" Anna whispered. "Mum…" her voice was laced with tears, her throat tight.

"I've got to…" Elsie looked up, caught Anna's gaze. "Okay, so, I might need to just sit down for a moment."

"I can't bloody believe this," Charles muttered, pacing back and forth as Elsie sank into a chair. "Of all the juvenile…"

"Charles," Elsie held her hand up, "please, just quiet for a moment." She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Mum," Anna said, leaning forward, "This…" her voice shook as she spoke.

"You're scared." Elsie said, "I know that feeling."

"I need to just…" Charles stuttered. "…just get out for a moment." he rushed down the stairs and she heard a door slam.

"That was unexpected," Elsie breathed. "So," she said, crushing her hands together on the table. "Shall we sit down and talk about it properly?"

How she hated having to be the adult in these situations. But somehow she pushed down her own mess of emotions – concern, sickness, anger, disappointment – and instead took on the mothering role, the support.

"So, how long?" She asked, biting her bottom lip.

"About five weeks, maybe a bit more."

"Right, and you've been to the Doctors and had it confirmed?"

Anna nodded. "I'll be due around your wedding."

"Oh wonderful," she grasped her hands together beneath her chin. "Just wonderful."

"I'm so sorry mum."

"We never meant for it to happen Elsie," John said. The first words he'd spoken since she'd got home.

"Clearly." The fact that they must have only just started sleeping together when she'd gotten pregnant riled her no end but she figured she had two routes now – the caring, supportive one, or the soap opera dramatic one – and she wasn't sure she had the energy for that. "Look there's nothing to be done now, I take it you are keeping it?"

"We are," John said softly, his hand on Anna's shoulder.

"Well then," she allowed herself a small shrug and a smile. "I guess I can look forward to having a baby in the family."

"Mum…" Anna sobbed and Elsie got to her feet, pulling her daughter into a hug. "It'll be alright sweetheart, a baby doesn't mean the end of things, you can still work in a fancy gallery and do your painting… and you've got this flat to live in. You know Charles and I will help."

"Will he? He stomped off!"

"He'll be fine… he's just not used to these kinds of situations."

"Who is?" Anna whispered.

Elsie glanced at John. "You might go and check on him."

"Yeah. Sure."

Settling her daughter back into a chair Elsie knelt in front of her. "Are you okay honey, I mean really, I don't want you to feel pressured into any of this."

She shook her head, "John's not like that mum, he's supportive, not a bully, he proposed immediately."

"Oh god!" She gasped, covering her mouth. "You're not!"

"Of course not, we've not been together long, I'm not ready for marriage." Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm not ready for a baby neither but it's a bit too late to change that."

Feeling tears prick her eyes Elsie covered her daughter's hands with her own. "I'll do whatever I can to help, just if you need to talk about things, I remember when I found out I was pregnant with you I was so confused. So happy, excited, and petrified!"

"Yeah. That's kinda it."

"Don't let yourself get stressed, worried."

"Not sure how – we don't have proper jobs, decent incomes, a place to live."

"You're going to live here, and don't you worry about money."

"You can hardly afford to support me, you've got this house now…" She squeezed her mother's hand. "Shit mum."

"Now you're worrying. Don't. You said John will support you, then I'm sure he will. And Charles is hardly going to charge you rent now… just, look just make a list of everything that's worrying you, the therapist had me do it. Make a list then we'll talk them through, rationalise it. Oh…" she brushed her hand over Anna's hair, "my baby having a baby."

"I can't believe it." She attempted a weak smile, "some bloody year right."

"I suppose if it's going to happen it may as well all happen at once. Just don't give birth at my wedding."

Finally Anna really smiled, throwing her arms over Elsie's shoulders and hugging her, "Thank you. Thanks for not losing it."

"I'm doing my best."

"I love you."

"I love you too sweetheart. And this baby will be loved too."

John coughed from the door, tentatively stepping into the room, "Charles has gone, his car's gone."

"Oh great." Elsie pushed herself to her feet. "I suppose it's better than him punching you."

"I'm guessing this is his fatherly side coming out." John said, moving back to rest his hands on Anna's shoulders.

"I'm guessing so. Didn't he book a table somewhere?"

"Yeah. He did."

"I best cancel it, doesn't look like we'll be going out." She watched the pair of them together, how Anna leant into him for comfort. "Do the pair of you fancy getting a Chinese takeaway – my treat?"

"Sounds great mum."

* * *

Later, when alone and in her pyjamas curled on the couch, Elsie cradled a large tumbler of scotch and stared into the amber liquid as she reflected on the news. In the past year her life had changed unbelievably, and now, just as things seemed to be settling down this happened and an entirely new set of problems presented themselves.

There was no one to blame, not really, they'd all just have to deal with it.

Hearing a car pull up outside she got up and glanced out of the window to watch Charles clamber out. Taking another gulp of her drink she set the glass aside and wandered into the hall to wait for him.

"Hi," she said gently, as he came up the stairs and into the hallway.

"Hi," he dropped his keys onto the table. "Sorry I ran out."

"I suppose you needed a moment."

"Don't judge me," he shrugged. "I didn't mean to be cold."

"You weren't. Darling as if I'd judge you." She held her arms out. "Want to hug?"

He nodded, moving into her embrace. She closed her eyes as she pressed her face against his chest. Finally, she cried, letting her conflicting emotions that had been repressed since the announcement come out.

"Where are they?" He whispered into her hair, rubbing her back soothingly.

"I told John to take her home and make sure she got some sleep – I don't think she's slept for days." She wiped her eyes, leaning back to look at him. "Bit of a mess."

"I take it she's keeping it."

"I don't think it would occur to her to do any thing but."

He pressed his palms against her hips, "Bloody hell, a baby. I don't know what to do with babies. I don't think I've ever even held one."

"Never too late to learn."

He breathed deeply, "I feel like there's a cat in my chest clawing at my insides."

"I know what you mean… you were unexpectedly irate."

He sighed, "You were rather calm in comparison."

"It's my new 'understanding' side, besides, she's terrified, and what can a mother do in that situation? I need to just be there for her."

"You're going to be a Grandmother."

She rolled her eyes, "Well, you're going to be a Grandfather."

"I am not."

"Erm, I think you are honey." She slid her hands into his hair. "A very handsome grandfather, or grandpa, which do you prefer?"

"She's not my…"

"…As good as."

He stared at her for a moment. Almost breathless. The odd feeling in his chest intensifying; a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

"I didn't think…" He smiled, "I'd given up hope of ever being a husband, let alone a father, let alone a grandfather."

"Well, I certainly didn't expect to be taking on this role for at least another five years… I'm trying to focus on the practicalities so I don't lose the plot and hit somebody."

He stroked his thumb down her cheek, "What else can you give me?"

Smiling she hugged him close, "Oh, I think babysitting and sleepless nights."

"I behaved like a bit of an idiot."

"Just an overprotective father perhaps. Why don't you call them?"

"I might. I'll feel awkward."

"Only for the first thirty seconds."

"They've only been together thirty seconds – a baby!"

"I know, and she'll be due around our wedding."

"Great. Guess we're gonna have to speed up moving out of this place and letting them make it what they want before the baby comes."

"I guess so. If anything's going to test their relationship then this will be it."

He nodded, "A baby!" He said again.

She smiled, resting her hands on his chest, "Let me get you a drink. Have you eaten? I saved you some Chinese."

"No, I haven't eaten, so yes to both."

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead, "Go call Anna, I'll fix you some dinner and then I'm going to collapse in an exhausted heap."

"Lot of stuff going on."

"Too much, are you okay though?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Are you okay?"

She shrugged, "I guess I've got to be. Tell you something though, I reckon I'll be in therapy for eternity!"

* * *

**_Well, let me know what you thought, as I said, took me a long time to write the 'i'm pregnant' section, i must have changed their reactions at least four times, so I'll be interested to know what you think. xx R_**


	36. Chapter 36

_Lots of time shifts here as we deal with pregnancy, house renovations and the difficulties that come with moving!_

**Chapter 36**

Tapping the side of his glass with the edge of a pound coin Charles glanced nervously up and down the bar before turning and scanning the room for Anna. He wasn't accustomed to waiting around in bars for women and was even less accustomed to having to talk to young women about pregnancy.

He'd wanted to meet her though, though he apologised for his abruptness on the phone, and make things right in person. Elsie had offered to join him and provide support but he'd insisted he go alone. So after Sunday lunch, when he'd usually go to sleep watching some afternoon movie, he'd left her working and gone to the pub.

It was fairly crowded, only just after two and busy with families enjoying a roast dinner, children making the most of the fact it was still dry in October and running around the park area – back and forth, in and out of the pub – he wondered how he'd cope with that, children causing havoc. They never kept still, they hardly ever shut up, they were needy and intensely selfish and yet there was something about them, something he thought he'd like to be part of.

"Charles?" He heard a tiny voice say by his ear and he turned his head, looked down slightly to see Anna watching him, her head tilted to one side.

"Oh, hello."

"Hi," she smiled.

"Hi. Would you…erm, like a erm, well I suppose you can't drink can you?"

She shook her head, "I'll have a diet coke please, or Pepsi, whichever they have."

He turned back to the bar, suddenly wondering what people might think of some old guy buying a young, pretty girl a drink. People could be judgemental. Jump to conclusions.

"And nuts?" He said, gesturing to the bar tender.

"Sorry?"

"Would you like to share some nuts?"

"Oh," she bit her lip, in that endearing way she'd picked up from her mother. "I would but I don't think I'm meant, are you meant to eat nuts when you're pregnant?"

"I have no idea. Crisps?"

She nodded, "They sound safe."

"Cheese and onion." They both said in unison and laughed.

"It is the best flavour." He agreed. "Do you want to grab a table?"

"Yeah. I can manage that."

He carried their drinks over a few minutes later and laid two bags of crisps in between them. "Don't tell your mum," he said, opening his bag. "She banned them from the flat when she found out I was having a bag a day with my sandwich at lunch." He paused, munching on one. "Says I have to have fruit instead."

"That's her teacher side coming out."

He chuckled, "Yeah, I've encountered it on a few occasions."

"You know, you didn't have to do this." Anna said, ripping open her own bag. "Meet me," she shrugged, "you didn't have to, if she got bossy."

"Oh no! Your mum didn't make me… This was my idea."

"I kinda figured she'd…"

"No," he interrupted, shaking his head, "No, I wanted to talk to you." He circled the rim of his glass with his thumb, "I felt bad, for leaving like that. It's not like me, and certainly not like me to lose my temper, I'm not used to it… And I apologise, I feel disgusted over my behaviour. You must have thought I looked ridiculous."

"No. No of course not," she reached and briefly brushed the back of his hand with her fingers, "to be honest I expected mum to do that."

He smirked, "Yes, the irony of that wasn't lost on me. Bit of role reversal."

"It's kinda sweet, that you cared so much. But you shouldn't be angry with John."

"Well, I am _going_ to be, he's older and should know better."

"I'm hardly a shrinking violet Charles, and we can't change it now, not all protection is 100%."

He felt his cheeks instantly redden, "Oh goodness, I am not comfortable discussing those types of things."

She giggled, "No, me neither." She looked up as a baby started crying, watching as its mother lifted it out of its pram and held it close to her chest. When she looked up again Charles was watching her, his eyes soft and kind. "A bit scary all this, I can't believe I'm going to be a mum, that I've got to take responsibility for another human being. I'm going to have to grow up pretty damn quickly."

"Oh, I don't know, you already seem pretty grown up to me. Look at how you've supported your mum over the past few years. You had to be grown up with that, for a long time I'm guessing."

"I think you've been the revelation there, she would never have been strong enough to go to therapy before you. Believe me. Dad would still have been picking her up every now and then and using her. As horrible as it is to admit that."

He felt uncomfortable at the very suggestion, like some small night creature was crawling in his chest. "She's a strong woman, I always thought that."

"I'm curious," she said, a half smile on her face, tilting her head to one side as she regarded him and her hair fell over the right side of her face. "All those years mum was coming into the shop, you knew she was married?"

He nodded.

"And you just… what? Liked her from afar?"

"Something like that." He swallowed. "You know there was nothing untoward taking place –,"

"Oh I know that!" She interrupted, "I never thought differently. But its just, well, that's a long time to like someone with no promise of anything happening."

He took a sip from his drink, licked his lips, "I guess so. I never thought of it like that I suppose. At the time, she was a customer I liked, she was always…" he smiled, "it sounds childish, but she was nice to me, she took the time to talk to me. We got on. You know they say people just 'click', I'd not really had that before." He sighed, "I'm a bit socially awkward, always have been. John and I never really got on, he's so much younger than me and we didn't grow up together and besides… he had our dad with him, I didn't. I hardly knew my dad."

"Are you angry with John because of that?"

"No, goodness no, that was over a very long time ago. I'm too old for regrets. At times I regret that I haven't had a lifetime with your mother but we have now and I don't want to waste it on regrets." He drained his beer. "Going to be odd though, I mean I'm what – step-grandad? Half-uncle?"

Anna laughed, "We could probably qualify for Jeremy Kyle when you put it like that."

"That's that awful show on ITV isn't it?"

"Yep, a real pile of shit. But we'd fit right in at the moment, stepdaughter sleeping with her stepfather's half-brother… it's the stuff of soap operas."

"How life works hey."

"Yes. How life works."

They were silent for a while, Charles toying with the idea of getting another beer, Anna watching the mother feed her baby.

He followed her gaze, scrunched his empty crisp bag up in his hand.

"I don't know anything about babies." He said softly.

"No, neither do I." She admitted.

"Well then, perhaps we'll learn about it together. I've got a section on pregnancy in the shop, plenty of books for us to work our way through."

"The key to all knowledge." She smiled.

* * *

**August 2014**

For their second date Charles had purchased theatre tickets, Elsie had insisted on meeting him in town and they'd had a quick drink before taking their seats. It wasn't until the second half of the production of 'Hamlet' that he realised what a mistake the choice had been.

In the theatre he couldn't talk to her, they couldn't share ideas or life stories. He couldn't watch how her eyes sparkled when she spoke of her daughter or regaled him with stories from her career. He couldn't watch how she'd worry her bottom lip (a trait he was increasingly enamoured with) as she listened to him. He wondered if he'd get bored of staring at her face, or if it was odd that he was already contemplating what her hair would feel like against his cheek.

So, for the third date he was better prepared.

A late August picnic in the park on a Sunday afternoon. He'd borrowed a basket from Isobel and packed salad and crackers and pate and fruit and a bottle of wine and two large, thick blankets.

If she were surprised by his suggestion she didn't show it, nor did she show if she found it overly romantic. In fact she was suitably summery – emerging from her apartment in a flowing dress and sandals, her hair clipped up out of the way and dangly earrings that swung brightly as she waved from the door to him.

He felt his heart jump as she came towards him and he couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced such a sensation.

"Hi," she said as she got into the car, a bright smile on her face.

"Hi. You ready to picnic?"

"Absolutely, let's go, the weather's held out for you."

"Thank god," he said, putting the car in gear. "Worried it would have to be a carpet picnic."

As he spread out the blankets in a quiet spot beneath a tree she took off her sandals, he watched as she wiggled her toes in the grass. "Hope there's no ants about." She said, her toenails were painted some sort of sparkly orange colour and he imagined her sitting and painting them of an evening whilst she watched television.

"I like the polish…" he said, as he watched her.

"The…?" She questioned, then followed his gaze to her feet. "Oh, tangerine it's called, I thought it had a summer vibe."

He chuckled, "I guess it does."

It struck him how different they were – whereas his language was precise and measured, hers was relaxed and decorated with touches of American slang, idioms and exaggeration. He supposed much of it came from dealing with teenagers day in and day out, their language choices influencing hers. And beneath it that soft Scottish lilt, stronger on certain words, almost obscured with others.

"So, I brought both wine and soft drink, just in case." He said. "Unless you'd prefer the two combined, Rose and lemonade and we make spritzers?"

"Ooh, yes please." She said as she sat on one of the blanket, her legs stretched out in front of her, her hands spread wide on the ground to support her as she leant back and let the sun dance over her face.

"Your freckles are out," he said as he watched, then worried she'd think him intrusive for noting such a thing. "I mean erm… they seem…"

"It's the curse of having fair skin," she smiled, opening her eyes to look at him. He was wearing a Panama and she thought he looked very much the English gent.

She watched him as he prepared their drinks, when he'd first asked her out for dinner she'd mused on the fact he wasn't what she'd usually go for, not that she'd really ever had a type – she'd dated a few young men as a teenager before she met Joe and that was it. She was married. She didn't have a type.

But Mr Carson – Charles (as she was having to get used to calling him) – was rather lovely, as it turned out. All those years finding him mildly amusing as he'd gone about the business of serving customers and ordering her rare books. He'd often seemed almost annoyed by the fact he even had customers, he could be short and she'd noticed he often corrected people on grammatical errors. In the early years, when he still worked with his mother, she'd thought him almost ridiculous, something of a relic.

Now, after years of growing used to his manner, and then these past few tentative dates, she found him sweetly old-fashioned and perhaps desperately in need of affection.

As he sat down beside her, offering her glass to her, she wondered if perhaps she should kiss him today. She certainly wasn't averse to the idea, he was a nice man, a good man it seemed, and it wasn't as if he were unattractive, just perhaps not classically so. But then they'd only had three dates and still wasn't sure where it was going – if anywhere – or what it all meant. But it was nice, and it was summer, and it was good to have somebody to share beautiful days like this with.

"So, I feel like you know a lot about me…" She said lightly, sipping her spritzer.

"And I'm not revealing much about me? Is that it?"

"Not too much, no." She flashed him one of her full smiles, "Tell me more about your family."

He popped a cracker into his mouth, "There isn't one to speak of. You knew my mother."

"Yes… but no aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins…?" She was stretched out on her stomach, her legs crossed at the ankles as she bobbed her legs back and forth. The sun was setting and the golden streams of light picked up the highlights in her hair.

He lowered himself next to her, supporting his head on one arm. "An uncle somewhere in Surrey, perhaps a distant cousin or two alive somewhere." He swallowed, "And my brother, half-brother, John."

"I always thought you were an only child."

"I am. I think mother gave birth, took a long look at me and decided no more!"

"Oh no, don't say that," she giggled, briefly reaching over and touching his arm. "I'm sure that's not the case."

"I'm sure it is." He laughed, placing his glass down and laying back on the blanket. He folded his arms beneath his head; above him the sky was pure blue, only a whisper of clouds and the gentle flutter of the leaves on the tree above him. "Perfect English summer day," he said gently.

"Mmm, it is." She glanced around before lying down beside him. "Do we have strawberries?"

"We do. Of course. Picked myself too."

She twisted onto her side to watch him as they chatted, "You grow them?"

"Lord no, don't have anyway to do so, if I ever buy a house with a garden I'd love to have a green house."

"You would?"

"Absolutely. Tomatoes, peppers, that kind of thing."

"When I was young I didn't have the patience for it, but I've found as I get older that I enjoy pottering in the garden – or rather I used to, not much call for it in an apartment."

"I sometimes feel like I've spoken to you about this kind of thing before," he smiled, turning his head on the blanket to face her.

"Do you mean I'm repeating stories?" She laughed, "I have a tendency to do that."

"No. Not at all." He turned his body completely now, lying on his side to face her. "What I meant was, I find it comfortable talking to you, it's easy."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

"Do."

She smiled again, her cheekbones prominent, eyes bright, tendrils of hair curling over her forehead.

He felt the urge to kiss her, to delicately brush his lips across hers, to rest his fingers on her shoulder. But perhaps a third date was too soon. He didn't want to rush things. Presently, he knew little of her background, her marriage, but he knew it had been messy from the way she'd sat melancholy in his shop on more than one occasion.

It had to be her decision, the first kiss, he'd leave it to her.

"Shall we see what other lovely things you have in that basket?" She asked, her voice light and amused.

"Yes. Let's."

They ate as they chatted, and spent the remainder of the sunny afternoon enjoying the other's company.

As the sun started to drop they packed away and returned the basket and blankets to the car.

"Would you like to take a walk?" He asked nervously as she stood by the passenger door. He noted the surprise in her eyes, "Unless, you have plans this evening, that is…"

"No, not at all. A walk would be nice, whilst the weather's still nice enough to walk in the evening."

"That's what I thought."

He turned back towards the park, feeling her move alongside him, waiting as she slid her cardigan on.

"You're cold?"

"No, it's just chillier, not cold."

But he noted, rather delightedly, that she was walking closer to him as they set off and her arm brushed his.

"So, you walk often?" She asked after a while.

"Sometimes. I bike more, and play cricket."

He was surprised when she laughed, "I'm sorry, it's the hat, I guessed cricket. Either playing or watching."

He allowed himself a smile, more at the sound of her laughter than her observation, "So, I'm a cliché?"

"More like quite the sports man, clearly."

"I wouldn't say that, I don't have this belly," he patted it, "for being an athlete."

"Oh, don't do that, put yourself down. You can be quite self-deprecating can't you?"

"Can I?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, "I guess I can."

"There's no need…"

He almost fell over when she slid her arm through the crook of his elbow and tugged him closer to her side.

"…You're a lovely man Charles."

At that moment he felt more like a bumbling idiot.

"So, how long have you been playing cricket?"

"Goodness, well, how long have I been alive? Probably since the year dot."

She chuckled, "Really, since you were a wee lad?"

He loved the hint of accent as she said it.

"I don't think I've continued anything that I did as a child, maybe reading, I always had piles of library books on my bedroom floor."

"It's a shame about libraries, so many closing down. I feel like we're losing something precious."

"I suppose so, but then you have to accept times have changed, forty years since I visited the library on a weekly basis. Time moves on, you have to keep up."

"Perhaps. But then sometimes I feel like a dinosaur, the very ground beneath me is shaking and I'm not sure of my place in the world anymore."

"That's quite an honest admission," she said gently, squeezing his arm with her hand.

"I'm being too melancholy for a beautiful summer evening."

"Not at all, it's nice to talk about these things with someone who cares. I'm not saying yes let's burn the libraries down and be done with it, I'm saying that people should have realised way back in the nineties that books, and reading in the traditional sense, has changed and we should have done something to change with it. Like all these record stores that closed over the past ten years, people don't buy music how they used to."

"No. Now we have the internet and Amazon, sending small businesses like mine into dire straits."

"But small businesses like yours have a different draw than larger, corporate machines, a draw that keeps bringing people like me back to them."

He laughed, "And I'm very glad you did." He patted her hand, and she shifted her head slightly, giving him a whiff of her perfume as she did so, she smelt fresh and enchanting and he wanted to bury his face against her neck and let her fill him.

"You're not worried about your business are you?" She asked, considering it for the first time.

"Not really, not at the moment, but I sense a change in the air. If I let myself dwell on it I might worry."

"Then don't dwell on it," she stopped, turning to face him, a bright smile on her face. "Shall we go have a drink, isn't there a pub not far from here, overlooking the river?"

"I think so."

"Good, then we can continue this chat there."

"On why Amazon is the devil and your plans for saving libraries."

She smiled, "I do have a plan actually, but the government would never listen and besides I wouldn't tell them because they're Tory and I'm not a stuck up prick." She covered her mouth, "I'm sorry, I've gone too far, I don't think before I speak a lot of the time."

But he was laughing. "So, am I a stuck up prick?"

"I think not." She laughed too, her chest close to his, "I never meant to imply that." She shook her head, momentarily covering her face, "way to ruin the date Elsie."

"Oh I don't think you could, it has been quite a perfect day."

Somehow he felt the earth breathe for a moment as the words left his mouth, and she was staring at him, her eyes wide and bright, a warmness to her expression. Then she leant in and delicately kissed his cheek.

"Shall we go get that drink?"

"Yes," he swallowed, his throat tight, "I think so."

* * *

**Present Day**

Late October, in the midst of renovations and seemingly endless days of time wasting and red tape, and Elsie had a stinking cold.

Charles had expected her to join him at the house after work but she'd never showed and he hung around doing bits of cleaning and painting until the light dropped (they were still without electricity there) and he had to throw in the towel and head back into town.

By the time he got home he was starving and exhausted.

"Hi," he shouted from the hall as he hung his coat and scarf up.

The flat was rapidly turning into a storage unit, boxes were stacked either side of the entrance hall and the lack of pictures and mirrors on walls created a rather gloomy atmosphere. He hadn't admitted he was starting to feel a sense of nostalgia about leaving it, he figured she didn't need to hear that going on her current mood.

"Els?" He called again, following the light into the kitchen. Her back was to him and she had her head over the sink, a towel over it. He smiled at the sight – at the way her backside stuck out in the long black skirt she wore, and the fact she was only wearing her bra on the top half.

"Oh dear," he said gently, briefly resting a hand on her back. "No better then?" He heard her huff in response. "You should take the day off tomorrow, try and rest." He knew she wouldn't, to him she was only just into the new school year and yet she was deeply entrenched. It seemed he still had things to learn about how it went – there was no preamble, September meant immediately into the hard work, and he'd remember that come May things might start to ease back a little.

He opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of ale, flipping off the lid and taking that first heavenly mouth full, he felt the dust clear from his throat as he drank.

"So, have you eaten?" He asked, leaning back on the counter and waiting as she slowly stood, slipped the towel from over her head and wiped the condensation from her face with it.

"I couldn't face anything." She sighed, looking at him for the first time, "I can't taste any way."

"You should eat though, are you drinking plenty?"

"I'm not stupid Charles." She said, turning from him and tipping the steaming water away.

He closed his eyes just momentarily, "I never said that. I see we're going to have another lovely evening."

"I might just go to bed."

"We haven't seen each other for days."

"I came home early today."

"Yes, I thought you were coming to the house, remember, to help?"

She avoided him by occupying herself hanging the towel over the radiator, they'd be snipping at each other for days now, it was to be expected with everything that was going on, but difficult nevertheless.

"I didn't feel well enough for it, paint and dust, I can hardly breathe as it is."

"You know I haven't been in the shop for days."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Just saying."

"I haven't forced you into it…" she paused as a tickle in her throat caused her to cough and splutter.

Charles filled a glass with water and handed it to her once she'd calmed.

"Sorry," she said gently, sipping it.

"I am. Go lie on the couch and watch television and I'll make you some chicken soup."

"Chicken soup? There's nothing in the fridge, neither of us has shopped."

He huffed, "I'm starving."

"Go get take out, it's not late."

"I suppose so, how far is that nice Chinese place you used the other week when John and Anna were here?"

"A ten minute walk, if that."

"I might go on the bike."

"Good idea, I'll have chicken soup." She patted his chest, "menu's in the top drawer," she snuffled, "I gotta go put my dressing gown on and snuggle on the sofa."

"Yep. I'll handle it." He was already rummaging around in the drawer for the menu.

When he returned – Chinese curry and chips for him, soup for her – she was half asleep on the couch. He set the food down on the coffee table, already considering having her soup for a starter, when she jerked awake.

"Didn't hear you come back." She mumbled, rubbing her face.

"You're exhausted, go to bed."

"I can't, I haven't even looked at my timetable for tomorrow yet." She forced herself to sit up, pushing a pillow behind her. "Could you get my laptop before you start eating…" she glimpsed his food, "curry and chips! Charles! It's only Wednesday."

He smiled, taking the lid off her soup, "Then I'll have this tonight and forego my usual Friday night treat. Here, eat this, then I'll get you your laptop."

She shrugged, "Fair enough," and accepted the soup. "Oh this is wonderful. Feel like I haven't eaten in days."

"You haven't stopped in days," he observed, digging into his food, "neither of us has."

"The joy of moving house."

"You will come by tomorrow though, won't you? Because we need to get these tiles picked. And I could do with some help on choosing paint," he chewed and swallowed. "Well, on just reassuring me that what's been done so far meets with your approval."

"Don't say it like that."

"You know what I mean. Thank god Anna can manage the shop, otherwise I don't know where we'd be."

"We don't have to rush everything," she said, putting her dish aside.

"I want to move in sooner rather than later."

"I know," she yawned, "can you pause and pass me the laptop now, I'll plan quickly and go to bed."

He sighed, putting his plate aside, "Alright."

He ate the rest of his meal in silence as he flicked through the newspaper and listened to her tapping away as she worked.

* * *

Charles spread out the tile samples across the kitchen counter, rubbing a dust-covered hand across his face. He glanced at his phone, it was already way after five and Elsie had promised she'd be there for 16:30. It was the third day in a row she'd promised that and the third day she'd either not turned up or turned up late.

He flicked the switch on the kettle and rinsed a mug in the makeshift sink. The room he stood in was nothing but a shell now, the wall he'd wanted gone had disappeared and the space he occupied was more of a rectangle shape than the previous square. They were still waiting to hear about the extension and until they got the go-ahead things seemed to be at a standstill, which annoyed him no end.

The least they could do was get on with the other rooms; everywhere had been stripped back to it's base form, the walls bare, they still had to choose colours before the decorators could get in but a new bathroom suite was being installed upstairs and the electricity cables and pipework was almost done. They needed to choose tiles before they could continue or even get started on the en suite.

Finally he heard the spray of gravel outside and glanced through the back window to see Elsie's car pull alongside his. He braced himself; they'd done nothing but snipe at each other for days now. House renovation really tested the relationship business.

The kettle boiled and he made an instant coffee – he hated the stuff but there was little in the way of supplies at the house, something he'd need to address.

"Hi," she called as she came through the back door, heels clicking on the bare floor as she climbed over a pile of rubble. "Sorry I'm late, I almost gave up and went home."

He huffed, turning to face her, "Well, thanks for that, I've been waiting ages."

"Traffic was terrible and I have an awful headache and loads to do when I get home. So, what are we looking at?"

"Wait a minute – how about, hi Charles, sorry I'm late, at least I turned up today."

"I don't want to argue Charles, I've only just got here. What is it I needed to come here to do?"

"Oh god forbid you take an interest."

"That's not fair, it's not like I have a choice on whether to work or not."

He held his hand up, frustrated, "No, that's not the case. All I've asked lately is will you help choose paint colour, tiles, doors, you know these things we need to get done if we're going to move in here this year."

"It's you who feels the desperation to get in here before Christmas, to rush things."

"Desperation?" He paused, shaking his head, "I'm trying my best to get this done, you know, our home."

"Stop trying to make out I don't care." She glanced around the naked kitchen. "We certainly can't live here in this state, we can't even cook and clean, there's nowhere for a fridge."

"We can put a fridge in the garage whilst the kitchen's going in, I've worked it out."

She placed a hand over her stomach, pausing and leaning against the one remaining counter left in place.

"You in pain?" He asked gently.

"Really heavy period, the first in a while, and this niggling cold. I have to go to the Doctors but I know what she'll say – I'm getting old and this will part of the course now until I dry up completely."

"Why didn't you say?"

"That I'm having my period?"

"You know what I mean. Why are you being difficult?"

"Why are you? What are we picking?" She said abruptly, aware of the sharpness of her tongue but anxious just to get things done so they could go back to the flat and she could have a bath and a lie down.

He sighed, "Shall we start with bathroom tiles." He indicated the samples on the side, "Here, we need to decide if we want the entire room in the same tile or different ones on the top and bottom." He sensed her discomfort. "You don't like any, do you?"

"Not really." She glanced up at him, "Don't pull that face, I'm not doing it on purpose."

"Waste of another week."

"Well, we'll just go to the store together and pick there. It'll have to be Saturday."

"As I said, waste of another week."

"Bloody hell Charles, it's not the end of the world. Am I picking paint too? I thought we just said white."

"That's fine apart from there's about thirty different types of white now."

"How can that be true, white is white!"

"No. White is Jasmine White, or Mint White, or Icy White… or whatever other stupid bloody name they try to assign. So forgive me if I can't just 'pick a white' but I certainly don't want to screw it up and upset madam and be made to change it at a later date."

"Oh fuck you, I'm going home." She scooped up her car keys from the side.

"Fuck me?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that great."

"You're behaving like a dick."

"And you're behaving perfectly logically, but okay, I'll be the one in the wrong, I am the man after all."

"See. Like a dick."

He caught the sleeve of her top as she turned away from him, moving his hand around her wrist and pulling her back to him. They were somehow caught between the counter and a stack of bricks and bags of plaster, which pushed her closer to him and when she tried to move she hit her back against the counter and felt trapped as he stood – tall, broad, strong – in front of her, his bulk blocking her exit, his face close to hers, eyes dark with anger.

"Look around…" he said lifting his hand and waving it about.

"No, _please_ don't." She gasped, shielding her face. "Don't."

He felt his chest constrict, his heart pound and breath caught somewhere between his irritation at the argument and his realisation of her fear.

"God, Elsie." He inhaled, "You know I wouldn't… I never could…"

She let out the breath she'd been holding, felt him let go of her arm as she shrank back from him and finally escaped across the room, putting space between them.

"I'm not him Els, I would never hurt you."

She looked away from him; it was painful to hold his gaze so instead she stared at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Tentatively he stepped toward her, reached to hold her upper arms, "May I? Look at me darling."

She did, felt a mixture of shame and regret sweep through her as she met his kind eyes; how had a silly argument over wall tiles led to this dark moment of fear?

"Elspeth, you know I would never hurt you, you do know that don't you?"

She nodded, feeling tears threaten. "Yes. I know."

"Then why, why did you think I was going to? What did you think I was going to do?"

She gulped, looked away again, covered her mouth as a strangled sob escaped, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He finally touched her, resting his hands gently on her upper arms until she leant into him, her chest against his. "Don't be sorry, just don't be scared of me. I couldn't bear that."

"I'm not." She mumbled against him, sobbing again. "It was just a moment… I just felt, for a moment, trapped."

He instantly let go of her, stepped back, giving her space. "I don't want you to feel intimidated by me. Scared of me."

"I'm not."

"We need to talk about this."

Her eyes were wide, startled. She didn't want to talk about it. She wanted to forget it, pretend it hadn't happened.

"We can't just let it go."

She nodded, "I know. But it was just a moment, a slip."

His brow furrowed, "I'm not him Elspeth. I can't put that any other way. I am _not_ him. I would never lay a hand on you, never hurt you…" he paused, "we may argue but nothing would ever push me to that."

"I know that." She straightened her back, rubbed the memory of the tears from her face, feeling herself return – not the timid, shaky person she used to be with Joe, the person that had momentarily surfaced. "I do know that. It was…" she let out a low breath, clasped her hands together to try and steady herself. "…we've never argued like that before, you've never held me like that."

"No, we haven't argued like that. But I suppose in all relationships…"

"…Yes I'm not stupid, I know we'll argue, we're both passionate people… It's not like I expected us not to."

"I'll remember."

"You'll remember what?"

"Not to touch you again during an argument, I'm sorry I did it, I'm sorry I grabbed you."

"Thank you. I'm sorry I turned up here in a bad mood and took it out on you."

He nodded, "Stressful time, don't they say moving house is the most stressful thing you can do?"

"I think they do. That and get married."

"And we're doing both."

She closed her eyes momentarily, "And running a business and holding down a full time job, and on the verge of becoming grandparents and traversing a fairly new relationship…" she allowed herself a small smile as her hand glanced over her stomach, "and apparently going through menopause as well now."

"So we can allow ourselves the odd argument?"

"Yes. I think we can."

"But don't ever be afraid of me."

"I'm not Charles. Really."

He stepped closer to her again, nervously, testing her response, "Because even when you're calling me a dick I still love you more than anything or anyone on this earth."

Now she smiled, her clasped hands dropping to her side. "I know."

"In the universe," he emphasised with his hands aloft, a grin on his face.

She stepped forward to bridge the gap between them, her hands resting on his chest, "I love you too." He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her, holding her safe.

**Mid-November**

Charles glanced over the top of his newspaper at Elsie, folding the page down slightly and wrinkling it with his thumbs.

"Darling."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Dusting."

"I can see that." He watched as she pushed the television forward on its stand and started spraying the cupboard it stood on.

"Els."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you dusting the television?"

"Because it's dusty."

"Sweetheart, it's 9:15 on a Friday night, sit down and watch the news or something, why is it important to dust now?"

"Because I want to."

He closed his paper. "You want to tell me what's bothering you instead."

"Not really."

"We move house tomorrow."

"Yes."

"And you're dusting a television we're leaving behind."

"That's another thing, can we afford to leave this?"

"Well, we agreed we'd have a new one for the lounge and you said you have yours in storage so we can use that for the moment."

She stopped dusting and looked up at him, "I'd forgotten that conversation."

"Elsie." He dropped the paper to the coffee table and got up, moving to her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "It's going to go fine tomorrow, smooth and easy."

"In your head."

"Put the duster away woman and come cuddle on the couch with me."

"How can we just sit around when we have boxes piled everywhere and…"

"And nothing. John and Anna don't have to move in tomorrow, immediately, we have the weekend ahead of us. And you have a couple of days off next week and we'll be sorted."

"With no kitchen and still arguing over tiles."

He enfolded her in his arms; "I like to think of it as discussing tiles rather than arguing."

"And this is what our life has become, _discussions_ over kitchen tiles."

"Don't forget bathroom tiles and floor tiles and paint colour…"

"Did we pack the whisky?"

"I'll go pour us a large one."

By the time he came back, clutching two large tumblers, she'd put the duster away and settled on the couch waiting for him. He handed her glass across, took a seat and she curled her legs up and lay down, resting her head against his upper chest.

"Better?" he asked gently, sipping the liquor, she could drink him under the table, no problem – he'd learnt that during their New Year break in Edinburgh.

"Yes."

"Not worried about tomorrow?"

"Very but I'll cope."

"Didn't we agree after the other week we'd talk about our worries?"

"We did." She shifted her body, sitting a little and taking another sip of her drink. "I'm worried we're moving into a building site," she admitted.

"I guess we are. With no kitchen for the next few weeks and the prospect of me spending every day at home keeping an eye on them. But we'll get there, just got to be patient and pratical… and thoughtful of each other."

"I am thoughtful," she stated, a hint of amusement to her voice.

"Other concerns?" He asked, a wry smile on his face.

"That it'll be a rush to Christmas, that we'll be arguing more due to the stress of it. That Anna and John will really be living here together, like a proper couple."

He sighed, reaching out and stroking his hand across her shoulders. "Okay, one thing at a time. It will be a rush to Christmas but we agreed last week that from now on I handle everything with the house if you do Christmas shopping and replying to party invitations and all the stuff I'm rubbish at anyway. We might argue more…" he shrugged, "…but then I guess we get to make up."

She smiled, finishing her drink.

"As for Anna and John, they are a proper couple sweetheart, living here or not."

"I know."

"But Anna is smart and they seem to be doing okay. Despite the chronic morning sickness. Who knew it actually should be called day sickness."

"My poor baby, suffering…"

He drew his arm around her, pulling her into him again and kissing her head. "There are times in life when there's nothing else we can do but weather the storm."

"Who said that?" She whispered, closing her eyes.

"Charles Carson. November 2015."

She smirked, "He sounds a wise man."

"A damn handsome one.

"Mmm," she turned her head to kiss his cheek. "My handsome man."

Are you alright?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, this has been your home for a long time, must stir up a lot of emotions, the thought of leaving it."

He shrugged, "Maybe, but I'm more interested in my future than my past. Tell you what though, I do keep thinking of my mother."

"You think she'd have liked the new house?"

"Loved it. She always wanted somewhere with a view. She liked to watch the sunset."

"That's nice."

"She could be a miserable old coot but every now and then she had a soft spot. Poetry, that was a soft spot." He stroked his fingers back and forth over her shoulder blades, the back of her neck, listening to her breathing grow shallower as she moved towards sleep.

He closed his eyes, remembering Violet reciting to him as a boy, words that were etched into his memory, her eloquent voice resounding through the silent flat that had served as his home for so many years.

"How clear, how lovely bright,  
How beautiful to sight  
Those beams of morning play;  
How heaven laughs out with glee  
Where, like a bird set free,  
Up from the eastern sea  
Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,  
No more shall yield to wrong,  
Shall squander life no more;  
Days lost, I know not how,  
I shall retrieve them now;  
Now I shall keep the vow  
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies  
How heavily it dies  
Into the west away;  
Past touch and sight and sound  
Not further to be found,  
How hopeless under ground  
Falls the remorseful day."*

*A. E. Housman

* * *

**_Well, do let me know what you thought, your reviews keep me going on this epic journey! That and gorgeous pics of Phyllis and Jim together ;-)_**


	37. Chapter 37

_Sorry for the delay, as we approach the end of term I get more and more tired and simply don't have the __energy to write in the evenings. Plus, I still want to deliver decent long chapters for you! Seems a long time since my own Easter Break!_

* * *

**Chapter 37**

**Thirty years earlier**

The early evening sunshine left dappled, pebble-like trails, across the white façade of the grand house. From his vantage point at the bottom of the garden Charles shielded his eyes and took in the sight – from wide porch to great windows to the ancient willow tree whose long limbs danced over the lawn.

At that precise moment in time it seemed like perfection. This wonderful building that was now set to become a wonderful home. At twenty-eight he was beginning to think of building a home, of finding someone to build it with.

When he was a boy home had been he and his mother, and it was all he wanted, well that and the shiny red bike he'd coveted from the age of five (he was eight by the time he finally got one and it meant freedom). Now that he was almost thirty and having to move back in with his mother he found it was no longer enough. As you got older the glass got larger and harder to fill.

He watched as the removal van pulled out from alongside the building, kicking up loose gravel as it went. He dug his hands into his pockets and set off back to the house; it was late afternoon and he was ready for a pint and something to eat, a pie preferably.

They'd been using the backdoor to take furniture in, but the French windows that led out to the garden had been open all day too – it was mid-July and warm, humid – so he made his way around the side of the house, pausing to dab a handkerchief against the back of his neck. He stopped, hearing the distinct sound of Isobel's laughter. She was giggling and it brought a smile to his face.

Moving closer to the sound of the giggles he paused again when he heard Richard's voice, then leant against the wall, the stone warmed by the sunshine, and watched as Isobel carried a tray of lemonade to the small iron table which stood on the patio.

Richard came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, his left hand on her firm, rounded belly. His palm was wide, wandering over the bump as he took in the dimensions. Charles watched as Richard whispered by her ear before kissing his wife's cheek.

It felt almost like an intrusion to be there, to witness such a moment. He wiped his brow and moved forward again, going to join them.

"I worry about Charles," he heard Isobel say as she poured lemonade.

"Why? Nothing wrong with the old chap."

"Do you know how lucky we are Richard?" She said, going to sit as he held out a chair for her. "This beautiful house for our gorgeous little boy to grow up in, and now twins on the way, and each other…"

"Most importantly," he smiled, bending to kiss her again. "You feel okay, not too tired?"

"Not at all, exhilarated."

"Good. And don't worry so about Charles. He's fine."

"He's moving back home with Violet." She rolled her eyes.

"He'll be fine." Richard said again, sitting beside her and holding her hand. "He has us, he can come here whenever he wants."

"Yes. But still. I want him to have this, to have something like we do."

Charles closed his eyes, turned his back on the scene.

Down on the lawn he could see their three-year-old son batting at a cricket ball. Determined, he set off down the bank; he'd teach the kid to hit a ball by the end of the day if it killed him.

* * *

**Present Day**

Elsie was up at 5:30, she rolled over and glanced at the bright lights on the bedside alarm clock and pushed herself up and out of the bed. An immediate mix of anxiety and excitement swelled in her stomach and the resulting adrenaline instantly woke her.

She was already pulling off her nightgown when she turned to the bed and realised Charles wasn't there. Switching on the light she scooped her hair up and clipped it on top of her head before making her way into the kitchen.

Charles was hunkered down in the hallway piling up boxes. She rubbed her eyes, leaning against the wall and watching him.

"Honey?" She said, "Why are you in the dark?"

He jerked around, startled to see her there, "Didn't want to wake you. Did I wake you? I've ben shuffling about like a hermit."

She smiled, "No, you didn't wake me." She flicked on the light switch. "What time did you get up?"

"About four I think."

"Charles, you'll be exhausted." She moved forward and ruffled his hair. "So, what are you doing?"

"Been loading boxes into the van we hired, we can make the first stop as soon as you're ready."

"Do you think maybe we might have a cup of tea first?"

He sat back on his heels, "Yeah, I guess so." As she turned to move he caught her arm, tugging her back, "Morning." He said gently, kissing the back of her hand.

"Good morning. You look happy."

"Today is the day I get to make a home with Elspeth Hughes."

"Oh," she chuckled, "And what have we be doing for the last couple of months?"

He shrugged, "Just shacking up."

She pushed on his shoulder with her free hand, "Oh thanks." And tugged her hand back, "I'll go make the tea, and some toast perhaps."

"Lovely."

* * *

The sun was only just peeking over the clouds by the time they made their first trip from the town to the country. Charles had never driven a van in his life and as they crested a hill and jerked from one gear to another Elsie gripped her seat.

"Sorry," he muttered as he ground the gears.

"Want me to drive?"

He noted the hint of amusement to her voice, "Shut up…" He warned, and heard her giggle.

"I used to manage a tractor you know," she said.

"Now that I would like to see. In wellingtons and your skirt hitched up."

"It wasn't some sort of fashion shoot," she laughed, "though if wellingtons do turn you on I'm sure I could purchase a new pair…"

"Steady on."

She leant her elbow on the edge of the door, turning to glance out of the window. The view was stunning. Rolling hills, still coated with frost in the crisp early morning air, the fading oranges and reds of autumn shimmering into existence.

She ran a hand over her arm feeling the gentle tickle of goose bumps appear; perhaps the van was cold, perhaps the morning was, or perhaps it's just that she was nervous.

She had clear memories of the first time she made a home with a man, moving into a tiny flat with Joe at the end of the summer. She'd finished college, not even stayed to wait for her results; they were young and eager to be alone. For the first two weeks all they'd done was make love on the tatty mattress they had set up on the bedroom floor – how simple it was then. No demands to decorate. No questions about who they were or what they were doing together or what might happen in the future. It never even occurred to her to ask.

Charles mumbled his annoyance as her jerked the gears again and it drew her from her musings.

"Look at the sky," she said softly, reaching across to rest her hand on his upper leg. "I can hardly believe we're going to live here."

He smiled appreciatively, "Pretty amazing."

"Sometimes I forget how lucky we are to live in such a beautiful place."

"This England." He said grandly. "Green and pleasant land."

"Oh but I'm Scottish, don't forget."

"And we can both equally be proud of our heritage." He laughed, his hand briefly touching hers as he reached for the gear stick and slowed down. "And here we are. Home sweet home."

He felt her fingers tighten on his leg as he pulled into the drive; it wasn't the first time they'd driven there together but goodness knows it felt decidedly momentous to him.

Circling round her pulled in front of the house and reversed to give them easy access to the back doors of the van. He hopped down easily then went round to help her out, watching as she dangled her feet down and held his hand to jump the step. He caught her arm in his, used his other to slide around her back and hold her closer.

"Come on then."

"Come on where, what are you doing?"

"Picking you up," he said, doing just that.

"Picking… why? Ah, Charles!"

He bounced her in his arms, enjoying the warmth of her weight in his arms.

She readjusted her scarf, which had trapped between them, "Threshold carrying is meant to be for when I'm _Mrs Carson_."

"Well, you almost are. Let's see this as practice for the real thing. Don't want to drop the bride on her big day."

"Absolutely not," she smiled, "go on then chauffeur, let's go."

She dug around in her bag as they approached the door and dangled the key until he lowered her close enough to the door to be able to unlock it and push it open.

"Smells of paint." She commented.

"Hmm, and new wood." He added, turning to fit them through the door.

"Can you pop me down now then love?"

"I might." He bounced her again, feeling her fingers curling into the back of his neck.

"Charles, we have lots to do," she leant in to kiss his cheek. "Your hair's all flyaway this morning."

"Didn't bother with gel, figured there was no need as I'm spending all day with you moving boxes."

"Think we should have hired a removal firm?"

"What's the point? It's mostly boxes today and John will help later with the larger furniture." He softly placed her down as he spoke. "Cup of tea first?"

"Best way to start the day, I'm going to open the windows upstairs first though, if we're sleeping here tonight we need to get rid of this smell of paint. What time are they delivering the bed?"

"Eleven they said, but they did say we'd get a text when they're almost here."

"It better be the comfiest bed I've ever spent a night on," she said, taking off her hat and scarf. "The money it's cost us."

* * *

By midday the majority of their belongings were piled in the appropriate room, kitchen apparel in the garage. As it was there were no doors on any of the rooms so moving back and forth wasn't an issue, though Elsie was losing her temper over people trampling all over her new carpets in their shoes.

The kitchen was sealed off, the only room with a door in tact, and currently under several inches of dust and rubble. Charles had set up a kettle and teapot on a side table in the corner of the hallway, right by the downstairs bathroom.

"Ready to bring in the sofa then?" John asked from the doorway.

Anna put down her mug and zipped up her jacket, "Ready."

"No way!" John insisted, quickly followed by Charles' "You're not carrying a thing."

"I feel useless." She claimed with a huff.

"Well you aren't carrying, don't even pick up a box," Charles insisted. "Go find your mother, she seems intent on emptying every box and piling our belongings up just so we can see how much rubbish we own between us."

Anna giggled, heading toward the back of the house, "Yeah, alright, give me the tough job."

"Kick your shoes off though, hey, just to be safe." He warned, before following John outside to the van.

"You know, I' not sure you should be lifting all this heavy stuff neither," John said, climbing up and positioning himself at one end of the sofa.

"Don't make me out an old man." Charles huffed, reaching up to grasp the end of the bulky furniture. "I can still manage this."

"Yeah but, no offence mate, you look knackered. You've been at it since dawn."

"Even before then, but I'm determined to get the flat empty, then you and Anna can focus on moving in there tomorrow, or decorating or whatever you want to do. Feel free you know, it could use new carpets in the lounge, though I only had that kitchen and bathroom fitted three years ago so should be fine."

"I can't believe you're just letting us have it, at least let us pay, I don't like to feel we're leaving you out of pocket."

"Don't be silly, lift this thing then."

John did as he asked, and moved slowly as Charles backed away from the van and John carefully jumped down, the two of them manoeuvring the sofa around the side of the house and towards the patio doors which led into the conservatory.

"You're sure this is where she wants it?" John asked.

"Sure. We've ordered a new suite for the lounge, should be here Tuesday. The varnish on the skirting boards should be dry by then, got another coat of that bugger to apply though, it's a real pain to put on."

"I can help."

"I've told you, after today you go focus on getting settled with Anna. I want you to make sure she's perfectly happy before that baby arrives, the back room will make a great nursery you know, it gets no street noise and there's loads of natural light."

Charles looked up once the sofa was in place and found John grinning at him, "What?"

"Not sure who's more excited about this baby, me or you."

Charles shrugged, "I'm not excited. I'm worried and trying to find logical ways to cope with it."

"I'm worried, god knows what kind of dad I'm going to make. But I feel blessed you know, that I've got a second chance at life with this wonderful woman."

Lord knows Charles understood that particular feeling.

"Listen, I want to talk to you about something."

"Sounds serious…" John dug his hands into his pockets, "Go on."

"Charles!" Elsie shouted from the hall. "Who's eaten all these biscuits?"

John smiled as Charles rubbed his chin and whispered, "I think that might be me, I'll give you a fiver if you take half the blame, she'll kill me if she knows I've polished off an entire pack of Digestives in one morning. Cholesterol."

"Well?" She asked as she marched into the conservatory, brandishing an empty packet.

"I think I may have had some." John offered.

"Some?" Elsie asked, hands on her hips.

"What do you think of the sofa being here?" Charles interrupted. "Okay?"

She stood back, biting her lip, "Maybe a bit to the right." She asked, making a shuffling motion with her hands. The men quickly carried out her wishes, "Perfect." She smiled, finally, clapping her hands together, "just think how wonderful it will be sitting here with a glass of wine and taking in that view as the sun sets."

"Roll on next summer." Charles agreed, enjoying her enthusiasm.

"What were you two up to next?" She asked, opening the bag she carried and taking out her purse.

"I feel we're going to be seconded to a task," he said, sinking down onto the sofa.

Moving to stand in front of him she handed him a twenty-pound note, "Thought you could fetch lunch on your way back from the next run. Pick up some sandwiches."

"Good idea," he took the money from her, "any particular order?"

"Ham salad for me on granary."

"Let me guess, Anna wants anything spicy?" John chuckled, "it's all she'll eat at the moment, spicy food. I've got constant heartburn."

"She did indeed make that request," Elsie grinned, shaking her head, "funny I had zero cravings during my pregnancy, except at the end and that was that she'd just get out of me. There's only so much of swollen ankles and agonising back pain you can take."

"You remember this when it gets close to delivery." Charles warned.

"Will do sir."

Rolling his eyes Charles held his hand out to Elsie, "Help me up, the old man's starting to wane."

She did as he asked, "Don't wear yourself out. We can always finish the moving tomorrow."

"That's what I said."

"No, I want it done, then we can just stay here tomorrow and find a place for all this stuff we seem to own."

"Either that or have a massive bonfire out on the lawn." She kissed his cheek, whispering, "just take it steady though."

"Will do. Lock this door after us," Charles said, "we've got to get used to the fact we now live in the middle of nowhere. Our nearest neighbours are about a mile away I reckon."

"Don't be silly, if you stand in the garden you can see their farm."

"I'm just saying."

"Alright, alright, I'll lock the door."

"We need to get used to being safe."

"We live in England, in the Yorkshire countryside, it's hardly a hotbed of dangerous criminals."

"Els…" he warned, turning at the door to face her, in the driveway John started the van.

"At least he's driving now, you should be safe."

"Ha bloody ha."

She pulled his collar up, "It's cold out."

"Yes mother."

"I do hope not," she kissed him again, "Am I being too snappy today?"

"Just…organised."

"Hmm, well I'm going upstairs now to make the beds up, curtains are hung so at least we can sleep comfortably. Though there's still no water in the en suite."

"I know, I forgot to mention that, the plumber will be out again first thing Monday."

"Okay. Get coffees too hey, nice ones, and one of those fruit smoothie things Anna likes."

"Will do. Won't be long."

She shut the door after him, watching as he mouthed through the glass, "Lock the door." Nodding she turned the key and headed back through the house to her daughter.

Anna was lying on the double bed in what would be Charles and Elsie's bedroom, her legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting on her stomach and eyes closed.

For a moment Elsie remained silent by the door watching her, there were times it was still difficult to believe her daughter was almost three months pregnant, she still thought of her as _her_ baby.

"You okay sweetheart?"

Anna's head snapped up, "Sorry, thought I'd test out your new bed."

"Decent enough mattress?"

"Great."

"Wanna help me make it up?"

"Ohh I don't know, think I'll get the corners sharp enough? You have exacting standards."

"Ah but you were taught by me, no doubt the corners on your bed are just as sharp."

Anna laughed, "You know me too well." She rolled onto her side, the plastic on the mattress sticking to her back as she did so. "Oh, help me up mum." She asked, holding out her arm.

Elsie did as requested, "Won't be able to do this when your nine months pregnant."

"Don't even let me think about that, I think I'll be massive, my ankles will blow up like Kim Kardashian's."

"Oh goodness no, I bet you're still skinny with the tiniest hint of a bump, like Princess Kate."

"With fabulous hair," Anna teased, flicking hers out as they giggled. "Did you send them for lunch?"

"As you asked, now do you want to tell me what's on your mind?" Elsie said as she unfolded the base sheet and shook it out.

Anna began peeling the plastic covering from the new mattress.

"You're the first one to lie on that bed you know."

Anna's eyebrows rose and she said cheekily, "Will Charles mind?"

"He won't know."

Laughing, Anna rolled the plastic cover into a ball and threw it aside and Elsie shook the sheet out onto the mattress, Anna took one end and between them they began making the bed. "So..."

"Yes, darling daughter?"

"I was wondering… you see I'd like you involved in this."

"This?"

"This…" she indicated her stomach, "as much as possible. You will come to the scans won't you? I can make appointments for after work."

Elsie swallowed, "Of course I will, John won't mind?"

"No, I've already told him I'd like you there. Which brings me to my next request."

"Go on." She watched proudly as Anna tucked the sheets in and plumped the pillows into shape.

"The birth. I'd like you there for that too." She shrugged, "I don't want to be on my own."

"John will be there." Elsie said softly.

"Yes. But he isn't my mum. I'd like my mum there. Besides, he has to stay by my head at all times and I need you to make sure he does so."

Elsie laughed, "Fair enough. You know I'd love to be there, I just don't want to be pushy."

"You aren't, I am."

Her heart swelled, as much as things had changed between them over the past year that bond they shared, formed over so many years and so many upsets, was still as strong as ever.

"Don't invite Charles in, he'll faint." Elsie commented.

"I figured as much."

They laughed together, standing back to look at the dressed room.

"It looks good in here mum."

"Thank you. Would you believe Charles chose the colours?"

"I like it, they complement each other well. Though I notice every room is painted white mother…"

"Now don't pick on me for that, we both agreed."

"Did you indeed?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Don't take that tone, he likes white rooms as much as I do. Take a look at that flat."

"Fair enough, fair enough."

"So, you want to go upstairs, pick out which room we'll use for my Grandchild?"

Anna's face broke into a smile then she giggled.

"What's funny?"

"You. Grandma."

"Oh bugger off."

"You do realise you'll have to get rid of this double bed once you're a grandma, have twin beds in here, no more hanky panky."

"Now you can definitely bugger off, come on, let's pick a room before they get back."

* * *

**Thirty years earlier**

Stretching up towards the top of the wall cupboard, Elsie yelped slightly as the ladder upon which she stood wobbled. Reaching forward she gripped the edge of the shelf and leant her other hand against the wall until she felt steadied.

"Oh, sod it," she complained, lifting her hand up from the shelf and noting the coating of paint on her palm and the handprint she'd left on the wood. "And the last bloody shelf." She started it again, moving the brush gently from one side to the other and coating the once dark wood with a bright white, a hint of minty green to it.

Carefully stepping down from the ladder she stepped back and took in the finished product, to her mind it looked wonderful, and the room already fresher and brighter. She wiped her hands down the front of her shirt; she was sweaty, her hair was pushed back beneath a scarf and she hadn't even bothered with make-up that morning, but after weeks of being stuck at home circling dead-end jobs in the paper she was glad to have accomplished something.

Hearing the door to the flat open she put the paintbrush aside and stood back expectantly.

"Joe?"

"Hi baby."

Smiling she greeted him at the entrance to the lounge, placing a kiss to his cheek.

"Woah! What have you done?" He said, his hands gripping her shoulders.

"Doesn't it look great, entire bloody day I've been doing this, since you left this morning."

He stepped past her, standing back to look at the newly whited cupboards.

"So? What do you think?" She said proudly. She bit down on her lip, hands on her hips, for some reason her chest tightening as she waited for his response. "Do you…" she licked her lips, "Do you not like it?"

"Well its… it's a bit different to when I left this morning."

She got ready to defend herself, "We did discuss lightening it up in here."

"Yes." His voice was low, and he'd still not turned back to look at her.

"So… I just got on with it. I mean, I can't just sit around every day, like I have been, you know, sitting here every day waiting for you to come home from work…"

"Yes."

"Don't just say that." She folded her arms. "You'll make me feel bad and I tried really hard."

He finally turned round, almost spinning on his heel to face her, his face immediately shifting from hard stare to saccharine smile. "It's fine."

"It's… fine?" She bit her lip again.

"Yes. I'm going to have a bath before dinner, will that give you long enough to make it?"

She shook her arms loose, shrugging, "Yes. Of course."

"Good." He kissed the top of her head. "Off you go then babe."

* * *

**Present Day**

"Els, you seen my wash bag, I want to take a shower?"

"Wash bag? I don't even know where my underwear is, let alone your shower gel." She responded, continuing to empty a box out onto the coffee table.

"Going commando for a few days then hey…" he sniggered.

"Have you hidden them?" She laughed, turning to face him, noting the large, flat package wrapped in brown paper leaning against his leg.

"What's this?"

"A moving in gift. For our bedroom."

"Charles," she breathed, putting her cup of tea down, "I didn't get you anything."

"That doesn't matter. Come on, open it."

She stood up, eyeing the size of the package. "It isn't a mirror is it?" She teased. "For the ceiling."

"What kind of man do you think I am?" He pouted, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling.

Giggling she tore the paper from one side to the other, smiling when she revealed a wonderful bright painting.

"A field of sun kissed sunflowers," she exclaimed. "Charles, how wonderful."

"Bit of a reminder of our engagement party." He shrugged, blushing.

"Now Mr Carson, don't tell me you're getting embarrassed."

"Don't tease, come here and kiss me."

"I'm still ill you know, you'll catch my cold."

"Right now, I don't care."

"Mmm, you will when you're kept awake by non-stop sneezing." Still, she leant over and kissed him anyway, her arms draped over his shoulders. "Good day," she stated.

"A very good day."

"I'm going to try and work out the shower and get rid of some of this dust from my hair."

"Fair enough, shall I put something on for dinner?" He asked.

"We've got bread haven't we, cheese?"

He smiled, "Cheese on toast?"

"I'll make it when I've showered. Why don't you hang this, the wall facing the bed?"

"That's where I thought too."

"Great minds." She stretched her back, easing out her aching muscles. "Goodness, I've spent far too long on my knees today emptying boxes, enough I think. A shower, food and then bed."

"Agreed. I feel bad that Anna and John spent their entire day here and we didn't get them anything."

"We'll take them out to dinner as a thank you, with Anna's current taste for all things spicy we should choose an Indian restaurant."

"Hmm…"

She patted his arm, "You'll be fine, look how adventurous you've gotten since we got together."

"In every way. Leave the shower running when you've done and I'll nip in too."

"Will do." He watched wearily as she took the stairs two at a time, following slowly with the painting tucked under one arm and his toolbox in the other.

* * *

Pausing by the entrance to the lounge and rubbing his damp hair with a towel Charles smiled, watching intently as Elsie danced around the room barefoot, a glass of wine in one hand, her hair damp from her shower. He thought she looked stunning.

He crossed his legs, leaning against the doorframe to watch her. The lounge was coming together, the floor was down, the woodwork polished and completed. Their new sofas hadn't arrived yet and Elsie was still debating over whether they needed a rug in front of the fire but clearly as he'd been showering she'd been placing their knickknacks around the room. Given pride of place was a photograph of the two of them together. He recognised it as the night he'd taken her to Van Zeller, the night he'd been late and he'd rushed into that restaurant fully expecting her to have given up and gone home and there she was – this stunningly beautiful woman waiting for him. And she was still there. Here. In their home.

Behind her the darkness of night reflected her movements in the large windows, it was black behind her, so very different to living in a flat in the town, where it never seemed to really go dark.

"_Oh since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you, you know I will adore you til eternity_." She sang out loud and clear, putting her wine glass down and fussing with how the curtains hung.

"I hope that remains true." He said lowly.

She twirled around to face him, surprised by his presence. "Oh, I think it will." She held her arms out, "Come dance with me for a moment. Then I'll make our dinner."

"Our first dinner here."

He threw his towel aside and slid one arm around her waist, and she curled her arms around his back.

"You know all week we can use the statement 'our first…'," she smiled, "this is our first dance here."

"I'm looking forward to lots of 'firsts' here."

"Oh, so am I."

"What do we have on?" He asked, indicating the radio she'd set up on the coffee table.

"Golden oldies." She said brightly, smiling, "Feel better for your shower?"

"Yes, though that faucet took some working out."

"I know, it'll be better when we update the suite."

"I've seen a shower in that booklet the builder left, big enough for two."

"Oh." She smiled as he twisted them round, the music light and soulful around them, "And will we need a double shower?"

"We might. Mightn't we?" He teased.

"I suppose so," she laughed as he twirled her backwards and dipped her. "I forget you can dance, you just don't like to do it in public."

_'My love must be a kite of blind love, I can't see anyone but you…'_

"Nice song," he said, leaning in closer to her, his chin on the top of her head.

"One of my favourites," she whispered, embracing his warmth, the simplicity of them moving so slowly together in their lounge. He was sturdy and whole in her arms and she held him tight as she sang along to the words, _'I only have eyes for you,'_ she pressed a kiss to his chest.

"I only have eyes for you too," he whispered, kissing her cheek, twirling them around again. He groaned as they turned, "enough dancing for tonight."

"Oh dear sweetie," she rested her hands heavy on his shoulders, "you do look exhausted. I told you, you should have stopped when you got tired."

"Wanted to get it done." He leant backwards, easing out the kinks in his back.

"Here, come sit in the conservatory, only place we have a decent lounger at the moment." She opened the doors and preceded him into the room, bending by a small heater which she'd plugged in, "unfortunately it's bloody freezing in here."

"Mmm, so it is." He flopped back onto the sofa, "I'll think on that, we might have to get it properly insulated, I've always fancied that under floor heating though, perhaps we could have the entire ground floor done."

"Oh goodness not now, let's wait a while."

"How long's a while?"

"Like two years or so, it's going to take forever to get over the cost of this kitchen and then we want two bathrooms rejuvenating. No need to rush Charles. We have forever here."

He shrugged, rubbing his neck, "I suppose. God my feet are killing me."

"Those boots perhaps, not used to them. And you've been on your feet all day." She turned from the heater to look up at him; he looked very pale and incredibly tired. Pushing herself to her feet she moved to him, resting her hand on his forehead, he felt clammy, warm.

"I'm alright." He said gently, eyes closed.

"An early night for you," she insisted, that motherly tone creeping into her voice.

"I'm starving. Nothing since those sandwiches at lunch."

"I know. I'll go get your toast." She slid her hands down his legs, the goose bumps on his legs rising beneath her palms. "Nice robe," she smiled.

"Thanks." He tilted his chin towards the picture on the fireplace, "Nice picture, didn't know you'd have that printed."

"Was a surprise."

"Looks good."

"We do, don't we."

* * *

Listening to the kettle boil for the third time Elsie wondered how long they'd have to make do with this set up. She poured the water in the bowl she'd placed on the floor; the steam rose, filling the hallway with the fragrance of lavender. Hooking a towel over her arm she carried the bowl through the where Charles sat finishing off his cheese on toast.

"You were a long time, where's your food?"

"I'll go get some in a minute, here, lift up your feet."

"What's this for?"

"It'll ease the ache, and keep you warm too."

He smiled as he dipped his toes in, then snatched them back, "It's hot."

"Give it a minute or two, you want a cup of tea or beer?"

"Ohh a beer I think, I've worked hard today haven't I?"

"You have indeed honey."

"And one of those chocolate teacakes I saw you'd tried to hide in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Are you training to be a spy Mr Carson?"

"Just got a good nose for the sweet stuff."

She leant forward and kissed his forehead, he wasn't clammy anymore. She took the empty plate from his hand, "You are the sweet stuff. Now soak your feet and I'll go get you a drink…" She pushed herself back to her feet.

"And?"

She paused by the door, taking in his grin, "And a chocolate teacake. Goodness he's demanding."

* * *

The first night in a new bed is always somewhat unnerving. The position of the bed, the play of light across the ceiling, the feel of the bed sheets, the sound of the mattress as you turn and move. The noises of outside, the creak of the house, the breath of the person sharing the bed with you.

Completely exhausted yet unable to sleep Elsie turned for perhaps the hundredth time and dropped her legs out of the bed, her feet sinking into the plush new carpet. She wiggled her toes and set off into the dark hall, feeling her way along the wall until she reached the bathroom, she made her way inside and found the light switch, blinking at the starkness of it. In the town she could nip to the loo in the middle of the night and use the streetlights to guide her, in the country it was moonlight and the unfortunately the night was cloudy.

Returning to the bedroom she bashed her toe against the door and yelped as she caught hold of the bedframe to steady herself.

"Are you alright?" Charles said into the darkness.

"Sorry. Woke you." She said, finding her way back into bed.

"I was already awake."

"I can't sleep neither," he laid his arm out, "come here."

She rolled into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest. "Ah, now I remember this pillow."

He smiled, kissing her head. "It's familiar to me too," he said, squeezing her waist.

"I haven't shaved my legs."

"What?" He chuckled. "You what?"

"Haven't shaved my legs, not for days, we've been rather too preoccupied with moving to bother with sex."

He laughed again, oddly bright in the dark room, "And shaving your legs means sex would be on the menu."

"Absolutely." She laughed too at the silliness of it, rolling onto her back, resting her head on his stomach and staring up at the ceiling. He was warm and the new sheets felt crisp and fresh around her.

"Do you remember your first home? I mean the first home you lived in outside of your parents' house?"

"Yes. Richard and a shared a dingy flat. We lived off beans on toast and hardly ever cleaned."

"Sounds about right."

"You?"

She sighed, "My place with Joe, when we moved down from Scotland."

"Ah," he ran his fingertips down her bare arm, feeling her shiver at his touch.

"The other week, our argument here…"

He licked his lips, "Yes."

"My reaction to it, more to the point. My therapist wondered if maybe you wanted to come in to one of my sessions, to discuss it."

He closed his eyes, his arm curling even tighter around her waist, "if you're sure that's what you want."

She laughed, a hollow, sharp sound, "I'm not sure. I suppose it would be good, but the therapy – I see it as separate to us."

"Oh…"

She rolled onto her stomach, looking for his face in the dark room, "Oh I don't mean that to sound horrible, I'm not meaning to exclude you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what happened between Joe and I is the past, and that's what I talk about with her, and you're my present, my future, I don't want you dragged into all that mess." She rolled her eyes, her hands rested on his chest, "I know that sounds ridiculous, going on all the times I've relied on you in the past and spilled my guts to you. But as we move forward I don't want what we have tarnished by the past."

"So you think it's a bad idea for me to join your session?"

"Maybe."

"Anna went."

"She was in it, she was part of what went on back then, it's good for us to talk about it together." She rubbed her palm over his bare chest, "You do understand, don't you?"

"Don't I always."

"Don't be hurt."

"I'm not." He rested his hand on her back, half on her skin, half on the silk of her nightgown. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes I wonder… you see to me you're so independent, so energetic and full of life and vitality and opinions," he smiled, "how did you get into the position where…?" He wasn't sure how to finish; afraid maybe he'd gone too far, insinuated the fault was hers.

She thought on it for a moment, folded her arms and rested her chin on them so she could still see his face. "I don't even remember the first time it happened, you know. It was so subtle, so gradual. There isn't a moment I can pinpoint or a day where I thought 'hang on a minute, he's abusing me now.' Things don't work like that."

"No."

"I started to feel scared of him, worried about how he'd react to things, minding what I said or how I acted." She gave him a small smile, their eyes adjusted to the dim light now, "which as you can guess was pretty difficult considering my inability to think through my comments before I say them."

He tried to smile back but couldn't, her very personality had been suppressed, that must have taken years of manipulation. "You're not scared of me, are you?" He said gently.

"Of course not." She reached up to touch his face, "Of course not Charles. My fear is nothing to do with you."

"Fear?"

"I fear messing this up, things are going so well – we're so good together."

Now he smiled, "We are."

"And now we have this home, our home, a few months and we'll be settled. And then the wedding, and the baby coming…"

"Which you're handling pretty damned well may I say."

"It's a cover, I'm calm on the surface, believe me underneath I'm freaking out about it."

He chuckled, "_Freaking out_?"

"Shut up. As if you're calm over it."

He shrugged, his fingers stroking her back. "So, this 'fear'?"

"Mmm, I fear I'll mess it up."

"Why would you?"

"Because that's what I do. You know," she bit down on her bottom lip, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"I shouldn't bring this up because it's not a nice memory, but in Dubai, when I pushed you away, I was so damned scared of accepting your love. Of letting you in, getting too close. Because having that intimacy with you, that reliance on 'love'…" She momentarily closed her eyes.

"Love had always let you down in the past."

"I guess so."

"It let me down too, in that I never found it."

She smiled slightly, glad of his levity, "Letting you in meant you had power and that meant you could do what he did, and it took me a while to convince myself that it was safe to let it happen."

He opened his mouth, about to respond but unable to find the words.

"Not that I ever thought you were like him, it was about my insecurities… my fear."

"And are you still afraid?"

"Of course not. Not of that."

"But you said you still have this 'fear' of messing this up?"

"Which I believe every human must have, aren't we a mass of colliding insecurities. You can't always have it 'together'."

"No, we can't. Though you do damned well at making people believe that's exactly what you are. Completely calm and together."

"A skill every woman must have." She moved her body, her legs tangling with his as she leant up on her hands and moved to kiss him, "I am so very much in love with you Charles Carson."

"And I you." He wrapped his arms around her, "I like it when we have these late night conversations."

"It's a healthy thing the therapist tells me, to talk things through."

"I agree with her. If I wasn't so damned tired I'd consider making love to you."

She smirked, "Would you indeed. Well, if I wasn't so damned tired I might just consider it too. I guess that first time will have to wait."

"Not too long though."

"No. Not too long." She kissed him again, longer this time, before rolling to the side and resting her head against his chest. "Goodnight honey."

"Goodnight darling, sleep well."

"You too. A long day of unpacking and decorating awaits you."

"I can hardly wait."

* * *

**_Songs mentioned:_**

_* Be My Baby - The Ronettes_

_* I Only Have Eyes For You - The Flamingos_

_I hope you're still enjoying, please leave me a little note. I reckon we've got about 10 or so more chapters to go ((until the end!)) and my aim is to reach a 1000 by the time we get there. I'll feel a sense of accomplishment then :-) Thank you for your support lovely people!_


	38. Chapter 38

_**So, first of all I need to apologise for how long this chapter has taken me to post! The last couple of weeks at work have been frantic and then I finally break up and can write but can't seem to post the chapter! I've literally had to put it on here 1 paragraph at a time. Perhaps I should start writing shorter chapters...**_

_**Anyhow, I want to thank all of you who have not only stuck with the story but continue to leave me such lovely feedback - it really keeps me going.**_

* * *

**Chapter 38**

**December**

"Pass me your bowl of pistachios." Charles asked, from where he lay on the sofa, a blanket over his legs, a glass of port in one hand, his other hand beckoning across to Elsie.

"No way, you've eaten yours, tough."

"Oh Els…" he whined.

"Don't you dare," she waved her pen at him, glaring at him over the top of her glasses. "You shouldn't have stuffed yours down."

"They're so small, they just disappeared."

"How much of that port have you had?"

"Just a tot."

"Hmm, you sound a bit tipsy." She deliberately snapped open one of her pistachio shells, "Mmm, it tastes so nice," she said, licking the outside of the nut.

He shook his head, his lips pursed, "That's really cruel." He threw one of the shells from his bowl at her.

"Hey, watch my new chair. And the carpet."

He wobbled his head about pompously, "Na na na, boss, boss, boss."

"Child." She switched her attention back to her marking, a smirk on her face.

For a while Charles was silent, sipping his port and flicking through the television channels, "Bloody festive television is rubbish."

"It's not even Christmas yet." She said lowly, turning the page of the essay she was reading.

"Two weeks to go, I've not even done my shopping."

"Who have you got to buy for? Me?"

"Yes. And I may get little extra gifts for Anna and John…" he turned to face her again, "…and what does that mean, I helped you get Isobel and Richard's presents."

"Yes, you followed me around York dear."

He laughed, "I carried bags too, and I paid for lunch."

"Oh well then," she glanced up at him again. "Cup of tea?"

"I'll make it, have you done?"

"One to go."

"Finish that whilst I make the tea, then come cuddle on here with me."

She smiled, "Alright."

Five minutes later he was back, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea on and a plate with a slice of cake.

"What's that?"

He ignored her question, "Kitchen's looking good, don't you think." He said, placing the tray on the coffee table.

"It is, but you're avoiding my question, it's 9:25…"

"And I'm going to have a piece of this delicious cake that my beautiful girlfriend made at the weekend for me." He popped a piece into his mouth, "Strawberries and cream, delightful."

"Charles," she warned, sitting beside him on the sofa.

"Don't fuss, come on," he patted the pillow beside him and she settled back, tucking her legs beneath the blanket.

"And yes, the kitchen is looking good. I'm guessing the tiling should be finished by next weekend."

"Indeed. Friday is the deadline or we don't pay top dollar."

"What a businessman you are."

"Though I haven't seen my business in a while."

"You're turning into a house husband."

He leant over her, placing his plate on the table and draping his arm over her waist.

"Els, what do you think about that?"

"About you being a house husband?" She reached her hand up, her fingertips tickling the soft skin of his neck, "I was only joking you know, you've been keeping an eye on the builders, chivvying them along."

"And now we're done I should go back to work." He was twisted onto his side, one arm bent, elbow digging into the pillow and his hand supporting his head so he could look at her.

"And, do you not want to?"

He raised his eyebrows, "I'm not sure. Which is odd in itself."

"I'm listening."

"I rather like the idea of having some freedom, enjoying this, what we have here now. And added to that, if I semi-retire, Anna and John could have the shop…"

"What?"

"They could have it, run it, manage it. I'd still be the owner but they…" he shrugged, "it's been on my mind for a while."

"You never said."

"I was mulling it over, then she got pregnant…"

She interrupted, her tone surprised, "You'd thought of this _before_ she was pregnant?"

"When we were in Italy."

"Goodness Charles, you should have said."

"It was just an idea. I mean, now Anna is pregnant, her dream – and yours – of her working in some fancy gallery might be on hold for a couple of years. So what if she still got to display art, local artwork, in the shop? That second floor could be turned into a mini gallery, she's smart enough to make it work, to buy them in and sell them on and make a profit."

Elsie's face broke into a slow smile, "You really have been thinking about this."

"Starting up a small business, or developing a small business, they might even be able to get a loan for that."

She reached up to place both of her hands either side of his face, "You're so wonderful, do you know that?"

"Does that mean I'm forgiven for the cake?"

"And throwing pistachios in my living room!"

He laughed, "Oh yes, that too. So, you think I ask them what they think?"

"I think you do. We have our dinner on Friday, remember?"

"Haven't forgotten, our first time entertaining here, I intend to impress…I could make my stew."

"And Yorkshire puddings too perhaps."

"Comfort food."

"Hmm," she slid her hand on his chest, ruffling the material of his pyjama shirt, "Want to comfort me?"

"Anytime." He smiled, kissing her head before huffing, "You've got to stop feeding that cat though."

She bit her lip, smirking, "What cat?"

"That cat that keeps turning up on the back doorstep. Stop feeding it or it will never leave."

"Oh Charles."

"Don't 'Oh Charles' me, it's fat as it is."

"It's pregnant."

"How can you tell that?"

"It's nipples stick out."

He huffed again, patting her back, "Don't talk about nipples so casually."

She giggled, "_Casually_? It's a cat."

"I don't want it having kittens on our doorstep."

"There were always cats around the farm when I was a girl, for the mice you know, and I always hated the fact that the female ones were pergnant whilst still kittens themselves. Seems unfair."

"We aren't having the kittens…"

"Charles."

"Elsie…"

She rolled over, tracing a hand up his chest, "A kitten or two would be nice around the house."

"Two?!"

She laughed again, taking in his wide-eyed expression, "They're cute and loving."

"And furry and fussy and expensive and smelly..."

"We live near a farm, in the middle of a field, cats would be good. Practical. And I'd rather like a pet."

He smiled at her pout, "Or two…"

"Or two." Her index finger ran up his neck, tickling under his chin, "So?"

"We don't know whose cat it is. They may want to sell the kittens, they may already be spoken for."

"I'll find out. I'll ask around."

"Bloody hell. Well, in the meantime stop giving it my ham from the fridge, that's good stuff from the deli, buy some cheap cat food or something."

"Honey, you know you do the shopping now."

"I knew I'd get roped in."

She leant forward, kissing him, "Love you for it."

"Hmm…"

* * *

**Christmas Eve - Twenty-six Years Ago**

Standing in the small bathroom beneath the meagre yellow light Elsie glared at herself in the mirror. She looked pale and there were dark patches beneath her eyes. Wincing, she placed a hand over her cramping stomach, another month, another period, another failure.

It seemed that those around her were blooming in pregnancy, carrying the weight of bringing new life into the world. She carried a very different weight. That of loneliness, uselessness.

Joe didn't seem to mind. If she got pregnant fair enough, if she didn't then also, fair enough. But to her – stuck on her own day-after-day in the small flat with nothing and nobody to talk to – having a child had become her sole focus. Something she could achieve, a child who she could pour her love and energy into.

The harsh knock on the bathroom door shook her from her musings and she quickly turned on the tap, rinsing the drops of blood from her fingertips.

"Come on Elly, we'll be late."

"I'm coming, won't be a sec."

"And do something nice with your hair, it's my boss' Christmas party after all."

His 'boss' was the owner of three farms in the area, and Joe was quickly becoming his favoured employee – in fact already that year Joe had been sent on five nights away, trips to farmer's markets to pick up the latest tips and suggestions. Elsie wasn't too fond of him, he was constantly winking at her, smirking in a way which implied he knew something she didn't. It made her feel uneasy. Plus, and most annoyingly, he spoke to her as if she were dumb, as if she were nothing more than the little lady wife with nothing to offer beyond housecleaning and baby making – both of which she didn't seem that good at.

Elsie was smart. She knew that. She knew that if pushed she could run rings around most of those who would be in attendance tonight. When she'd left school and run away from Scotland with Joe she couldn't wait to be free. Now, with the more time she spent away from education, the more she missed learning.

She pouted at herself, scooping her hair back from her face and twisting it into a tight coil. Joe was forever telling her that her hair looked messy – too curly, too unruly – perhaps she'd cut it short, maybe make the colour darker; a change for the new year.

Pinning her hair up she tidied back the errant curls, spraying them to remain in place for the duration of the night. She'd been saving her money for eight weeks in order to buy a decent dress for the party, she didn't want to let him down, he worked so hard all year. And then the one she'd chosen, the one she'd had her eye on in a small boutique in town for weeks, he had disregarded with a shake of his head and picked her something else entirely.

She stepped back from the mirror eyeing herself in it; it was strapless and she wasn't quite used to showing her flesh. She hoisted the top up again, having an awkward feeling that she'd probably be carrying out the very same move all night. Still, it was long and thankfully that covered the fact her only pair of black heels were scuffed and she'd coloured in the white patch with a felt tip pen.

Sighing, she pulled the cord and turned off the light. Christmas Eve and a party.

* * *

In the car she drove nervously – having only officially passed her test a few weeks earlier and certainly not confident on icy roads – her seat pulled forward, her knees almost under her chin.

"What are you driving like that for?" Joe slurred, one hand waving up in front of him. "It's a 40 road."

"It's poorly lit, and it's icy and it's the early hours of the morning. I want to be safe."

"And blah de blah de blah de blah… you know everything."

She bit her lip, straightened her back. He was drunk and hopefully would be asleep within ten minutes of getting home.

"You know it's Christmas Day." She said lightly, starting to smile. "I've never been up in the early hours of Christmas morning, well, I mean coming home. I feel rather naughty."

Joe remained quiet, turning to glance out of the car window.

"Can we open presents when we get in, before bed?" She said playfully.

"It's not how we do it."

She twisted her mouth, turning the wheel slowly as she pulled into their street and found a spot as close to the flat as she could.

Once inside she turned on the lights on the tree, put the kettle on in the kitchen and shouted through to her husband in the lounge.

"Light the fire Joe, it's freezing in here."

"You do it."

She stepped back; eyeing him slumped back on the couch with his feet on the coffee table.

"Joe, baby, I've asked you before about the feet on the table thing…"

"Don't start."

Huffing she carried two mugs through, setting them down on the table.

"Will you do the fire?"

"Oh god, yes." He grunted, throwing his feet to the floor. "Because it needs to be done now."

"It's cold in here. I can't sleep when it's cold. I'm going to get out of this dress."

"I don't want to see you wearing it again."

She laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "You picked it."

"And you can't be trusted in it."

"Excuse me."

"I saw you flirting with my boss, giggling like a schoolgirl, all coy and…" he waved his arms around exaggeratedly.

"You're drunk, I'm not talking to you whilst you're drunk. I'm going to get changed and go to bed. For heaven's sake, I don't even like the man." She picked up her mug and carried it down the short corridor to the bedroom.

Behind her she heard Joe growl in anger, and then the quick, hot slap of his mug hitting the lounge wall. She dropped hers in shock and stood watching the tea soak into the carpet around her feet.

She jumped at the sound of his feet thundering down the corridor.

She yelped at the smash of the bedroom door as it closed.

Looking back now, she marked that as the first time she could recall it happening.

* * *

**Present Day**

Standing in front of their bedroom mirror Elsie pulled the clip from her hair, shaking it out and feeling the stress of the past few weeks instantly drain away.

Beside her, on her dressing table, stood two small poinsettias – one red, one white – she'd noticed, as she'd rushed in and moved through the warm house, that there were poinsettias of various sizes in all of the rooms now. Charles had thrown himself into the decorations and true to form he'd done it spectacularly.

There was a wonderful tree at the end of the hallway, so when you came through the front door it greeted you, which was particularly delightful when you came home and it was dark and the diamond lights were twinkling to guide you in. She liked the fact there were no other decorations on it, just lights, it was simple and elegant and she hadn't thought Charles capable of making such a stylistic choice – clearly she was wrong.

The main tree occupied the space in the lounge beside the doors to the conservatory and Charles had taken great delight in placing their presents beneath it as they'd built up. They'd picked it together, a Saturday late in November, and spent the afternoon decorating it with a combination of both of their old trinkets.

She sensed him come into the bedroom behind her, and smiled at him in the mirror. "Dinner smells gorgeous."

"Thank you, I went to the good Butcher's for the stewing meat." He sat back on the bed, watching as she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it loose from her skirt. "There are some things I don't think I'll ever fully get used to."

"Such as?"

"Watching you undress."

She smirked, "Charles. Really." Slipping her blouse off she hung it over the chair at the dressing table before going to kiss him, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Thank god it's the end of term."

"You glad to be done?"

"Tremendously so. December is a stressful time don't you think, never-ending parties and shopping and trying to fit in visits with family and friends… When the day finally arrives quite often you just want to sleep."

"I agree." His hands rested on her hips, thumbs drawing circles on her bare flesh just above the band of her skirt. "But now we can just enjoy our time together, I intend to spoil you."

"Oh?" She leant forward, her knees against his. "You do?"

"But of course. Our first real Christmas together, in our house."

"Our home." She nuzzled his nose with hers, easing her mouth down to kiss him languidly, pressing her body forward until his arms circled her.

They parted at the sound of a car outside and Elsie smiled, "Guests. I better change quickly."

"I'll go greet them and pour wine."

"Ooh," she smiled, clapping her hands together, "this is our first real chance to entertain too. Did you manage to get those speakers working?"

"I think so, still a mystery to me though. You best check them when you come down."

"Will do. We need festive tunes to dance to after dinner."

"Dance?" He smirked, "You'll be asleep by ten. Like you have been every night this week."

She blobbed her tongue out at him, listening to his laugh as he made his way to the front door and the first of their guests.

* * *

"So, there's something I wanted to talk through with you both." Charles said, setting down his knife and fork and indicating Anna and John across from him.

Elsie reached for her wine glass, smiling over the top of it at him. To the others he seemed perfectly at ease, but she knew him well now, the fold of his hands, the slight dip of his chin – he was nervous.

"Sounds ominous," John said, pushing his chair back and stretching out his legs. "We haven't damaged anything in the flat, I'm sure of it."

"Be a different matter when the wee bairn comes along." Elsie said, getting up to refill their glasses.

"Wee bairn, look at you with the accent." Beryl teased.

"Shut up and have some more wine you old torment."

"Yes well, it's to do with the flat actually." Charles continued, feeling Elsie's hand squeeze his shoulder as she went by him. "More to the point, the shop."

"I think we're doing okay," Anna said, pushing her empty plate aside. "Profits are up very slightly on last year. The Christmas wrapping has been a real incentive."

Charles waved his hand, "I'm not worried about the profits…"

"What he means is you're doing a great job." Richard butted in, lifting his glass for Elsie to fill. "He's told me so several times of late."

Anna blushed at the compliment and John sat straighter at it.

He nodded, "I do mean that." Flustered he reached up to loosen the buttons on his shirt. "You see, I'd always worried about what would happen to the shop, when I er… well, when I'm too old to run it." He huffed, finding the tablecloth suddenly very interesting. "I've never liked the idea of leaving the shop to a stranger, and well, I've surprisingly rather enjoyed my time spent here pottering about over the autumn months and I…"

"Good lord Charles, you'll make us all jealous, living the life of luxury whilst the rest of us plebs work." Bill ribbed.

"Leave him alone a minute will you," Beryl interrupted, her leg catching her husband's beneath the table.

"Maybe you should just ask them dear." Elsie said, patting the back of Charles' hand as she sat down again. "Before the crumble burns."

"Yes, maybe I ought to. You see, I was wondering how you feel about taking over the shop on a permanent basis."

"You mean manage it?" Anna said eagerly.

"Do you mean that Charles?" Isobel asked gently.

"He does." Elsie replied, her eyes never leaving her daughter's face. "He has this sweet little idea of you turning the second floor into a gallery for local artwork."

Anna almost squealed, covering her mouth and reaching for John's hand.

"Of course I'll do it all proper like, get the legal papers drawn up."

"Good for you old man." Richard said, raising his glass.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Isobel smiled broadly.

"It is," Beryl agreed. "A great idea."

Elsie watched as Anna's eyes filled with tears, her daughter had never been an emotional girl – the hormones must be playing havoc.

"I thought that I could try my hand at being the silent owner, I'd pay you both a wage of course, a decent one too, I wouldn't try to fiddle you – I've saved well over the years and…" He felt Elsie's hand squeeze his. "Well, happen that's enough for now. We can discuss properly come January."

"Credit to you Charles, nicely played." Bill said, tipping his glass towards him and nodding. "Thought you were a decent kind when Elsie first brought you to that pub."

"Of course you did," Elsie smiled, pushing her chair back "Shall we have dessert?" she tapped Charles' shoulder, indicating for him to follow.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am," John suddenly said, the first thing he'd said, as he stood awkwardly. "I promise I won't let you down with this Charles." He held out his hand across the table and Charles took his brother's hand and shook it.

"I always regretted the fact the shop wouldn't stay in the family. And now of course, it can."

* * *

In the kitchen Elsie put the dishes by the sink and turned to hug Charles.

"What's this for?" He whispered into her hair, returning her hold.

"Just because… …because you put poinsettias in every room."

He laughed, "I thought it was festive."

"It is. You are. You're wonderful and I feel lucky."

"Funny," he said, stroking her hair and gazing down at her, "I think I am too."

* * *

**Christmas Eve**

Maybe it was all in the mind, the belief that things were different on that particular night. That somehow the bitter bite of the December chill was eased. The darkness that fell early in winter was lightened by the brightness of the Christmas stars.

Excitement and anticipation filled the air; it seeped from the very pores of children, shone out of their faces in wonder. Charles wasn't a fanciful type – he prided himself on practicality and order and routine. But that particular night he felt a degree of magic abounding.

They'd spent the morning preparing food together, in their newly renovated kitchen, singing to the festive tunes on the radio. Elsie made mince pies, Charles prepared his mother's trifle, and they shared stories of childhood Christmases spent pestering parents and taking part in nativities.

For the first time in many years they'd be hosting Christmas Day. Anna and John were staying over and come Boxing Day they'd all spend time at Beryl and Bill's house, joining their brood for lunch.

They'd taken a taxi to Richard and Isobel's late morning; swapping gifts and having a long lunch together. It was the first time Elsie had met their children, and grandchildren, and it was rather nice to see Charles with them. To Isobel and Richard's three children he was godfather and he clearly took his duties seriously, taking the time to catch up with each one of them individually.

By afternoon he was on his back on the lounge floor with several little ones clambering over him and for the first time Elsie began to picture what it would be like to have a child in their house; a toddler following Charles from room to room, clinging to his legs, dragging behind his feet.

The image stayed with her all day.

The four of them took a slow walk to Church for the seven o'clock service. Usually Charles would attend midnight mass but as they had Anna and John staying over he rearranged his routine.

Now, as he stared at the backs of Isobel and Richard walking in front of him, and felt Elsie's leather-gloved hand wrapped tightly in his, that element of magic curled around him and he wanted to hold onto it.

He tugged on Elsie's hand as they joined the stream of churchgoers marking their way inside, and she stopped, turned her face to his.

"What?" she mouthed, and he watched the word escape her lips in a whisper of air in the cool night.

Her face was pale, eyes bright, lips coated in a sheen of red.

He bent his head down, kissed her cheek, "You look beautiful."

He heard her smile as they resumed their place in the moving queue, "Thank you. I made an effort for you."

"I'm going to marry you here," he whispered as they stepped over the threshold and her hand tightened in his.

"Lord knows what I'll wear." She replied, gazing around.

* * *

Elsie had never been a particularly religious person. As a child she'd given up on God when she watched a calf die within hours of being born. Her fears that He could do little to prevent bad things happening was only further strengthened when by the age of nine she'd worked out her father beat her mother. That someone with unfathomable power – presumably enough to design a universe – would allow horrors to occur baffled her and she'd spent years turning that particular quandary over in her mind.

When she was older her rationale had altered. She learnt of free will, she learnt that man would do whatever, whenever to whomever it wished and damn the consequences – whether that be heaven or hell.

During her pregnancy she'd started to pray again, something she hadn't consciously done since her days in Sunday school. She asked for her child to be carried to term, to be born healthy and fit, for her husband to fall back in love with her, with the both of them. And despite the years of turmoil that followed she'd kept God close, perhaps not praying but certainly chatting with him regularly.

It was a surprise to her then, that when they'd stood around the nativity scene and sang Silent Night, she'd cried. She'd felt Charles looking at her, heard the baritone of his voice swelling in her chest, and he'd reached carefully for her hand. Gratefully she'd folded her fingers with his, skin to skin, and done her best to breathe normally and mouth along to the words, there was no way she could sing with her chest as tight as it was.

She felt foolish afterwards, as she readjusted her coat outside and Charles silently handed her scarf across.

"You okay?"

She nodded, smiling as she felt Isobel's hand slide over her back and pull her into a hug.

"Merry Christmas!" She'd said excitedly. "Be sure to call us tomorrow, won't you Charles." She moved to hug him, kissing his cheek, "It will be odd not spending the day with you."

"No chance to berate for the choice in jumper if you don't call old boy." Richard laughed, shaking his hand.

"We'll see you in a few days at the club." Charles said, "And I hope to see you wearing said jumper."

"But of course. Have a lovely day, and you Elsie."

"Thank you. And thank you for today, it's been really lovely to meet your family and spend time with you all."

"You're very welcome," Isobel squeezed her upper arm, "I hope you realise that. Now, let's find a taxi before we freeze."

Elsie caught hold of Charles' wrist, "Would you mind if we walked for a while, just into town, to get some air?"

"Of course not."

* * *

Her arm was hooked through his, her body pressed close in a bid to keep off the cold. Around them the town was alive with revellers, youths moving from pub to pub, decorated in tinsel and cheap Elf outfits.

"How many strangers do you think will hook up tonight?" She asked, her cheeks bitten by the cold.

"_Hook up_?" He shook his head. "Since when do we say 'hook up'?"

She chuckled, "Oh I am sorry Mr Carson, a lazy choice of words."

"You're forgiven and in answer to your question, I'd say quite a few."

"I do hope they use protection."

"Elsie."

"I'm just saying." She shrugged.

"You want to go somewhere for a drink?"

"No it's too noisy, we'll need to get a taxi, before it gets too late and too busy to track one down."

"Did you give Anna a key?"

"Yes, and the code. She texted me earlier, they were raiding our fridge."

"Good lord, it'll be empty by the time we get back. John can eat for three men."

"Must run in the family." She tugged on his arm, "Now, I know this street."

He followed behind her, caught up in her sudden giddiness.

"Doesn't a certain book shop owner live around here?" She'd let go of his arm and was walking backwards, facing him as she moved, a teasing smile upon her face. "I think he was rather a handsome man."

"Was he indeed? Why didn't you tell him years ago?"

"I never knew he cared." She stopped by the entrance to the shop, shut up for the break. "You remember months ago, when I came here with Anna after our trip, and you hadn't spoken to me in days and days and you had builders in…"

He finally reached her, "And I was overjoyed to see you but afraid to show it."

She reached her hand forward to rest on his chest, "I was so desperately sad you didn't want me anymore."

"I wanted you from the moment you stumbled through that door in the rain and almost strangled yourself on your scarf."

She laughed, "Oh yes, and what an entrance I made into your life."

He took her gloved hand, kissing the back of it and pulling her to him. "Christmas always makes me sad." He whispered against her hair as he held her.

"It does?" She held him tight. "Why?"

"Because it's a time for families and children…"

"Oh honey, surely the very essence of Christmas is that it's a time for everyone." She pulled back to look at him. "Isn't that the point – to bring people together, like we did in that Church tonight?"

"Is that why you cried?"

She shrugged, "I'm not sure. I felt… moved. God and I haven't always had an easy relationship."

"I challenge anyone to say their relationship with God is easy."

"No relationship is, I suppose. But worth it, ultimately."

He brushed the hair back that had come loose from her hat. "That's why I want this place to stay in the family, that's very important to me. I want my will to reflect that."

"Charles," she shivered, "don't talk of such things on Christmas Eve."

"I told you, it makes me melancholy."

"Well don't be." She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a long, deep kiss to his mouth. "You have me, and I love you very much. Now, I'm freezing, so let's go home and have some Champagne and those wonderful canapés you prepared earlier."

"Deal."

* * *

Unable to sleep Anna crept out of bed just before three, tiptoeing to the bathroom and then down the stairs. She eased open the kitchen door and poured herself a glass of milk, standing in the dark room with just the light of the fridge to illuminate her movements.

Resting her open hand on her blossoming belly she closed her eyes, around five months now and everything she knew about her body was being undone by this wondrous occurrence. Hard to believe that in a year's time she'd have a baby, a first Christmas as a mother and experiencing it all in a very different way.

She jumped as she heard a noise in the next room; logic told her it was another family member and she shut the fridge door as she made her way down the hallway and into the lounge.

Elsie knelt by the fire, poking at the dying embers before throwing on another log. She sat back, knees bent, hands on the floor behind her as she sat staring into the flames.

Anna watched her mother, for a moment seeing her as much younger than her years. The orange glow of the fire upon her face illuminated her features and the red in her hair, and her body cast a long, dark shadow across the floor.

Stepping forward gently she made her way to sit with her.

"Darling, did I wake you?"

"I was already up. Can't sleep at the moment."

Elsie held up her hands, helping her daughter to sit.

"Clearly you're having the same issue."

"Needed to pee then couldn't get back off, Charles' snoring didn't help."

Anna smiled, "He snores?"

"Loudly when he's had too much to drink. Dead to the world."

"I see he's played Santa Claus." Anna indicated the presents piled beneath the tree.

"He's loved it you know, all this, getting the house decorated and planning for tomorrow. Goodness knows what he'll be like when we have a child in the house, he probably will don the red suit."

"That'd be a sight to see. He was awful melancholy tonight, talking about the shop and leaving it in the family."

"I know. Maybe you being pregnant has made him think about his own mortality, or what he wants to do with his life. He's made his mind up about not working though, I suppose he wants to enjoy the rest of his life. He keeps talking about me doing the same… but I'm not quite ready to retire yet."

Anna sucked in a tight breath, "Pretty sad though, starting to think about how much time you have left."

Elsie shrugged, "One day I will die. And so will he. And all of us under this roof." She reached forward and placed a hand on Anna's belly, "But now we're celebrating new life, it is Christmas after all. Charles has had so many years…" she paused, sitting back again. "He says that he used to just exist, not really live, and I so want him to feel like he's living life now."

"I'm pretty sure he's doing that. What a year it's going to be – your marriage, my baby."

"I can hardly wait for it to begin."

* * *

Elsie left Anna at the top of the stairs, pressing a kiss to her head and watching her head down the corridor and up the small flight of stairs to the third floor and the room she was sharing with John. Turning in the other direction Elsie crept back into her bedroom, shed her dressing gown and, shivering, slid beneath the sheets next to Charles.

He was lying on his side facing away from her and she pressed herself up against his back, sliding her arm around his waist.

"Your feet are like bloody ice." He mumbled into his pillow.

"Sorry," she whispered back, kissing his shoulder blade. "And I woke you."

"Mmm. Where've you been?"

"Talking to Anna."

"She alright?"

"Fine. Couldn't sleep neither."

"Childish excitement or strange bed?"

"But of both maybe." She smiled.

"You didn't sneak a look at what Santa's brought." His voice was clear now, sleep easing away.

"Of course not, I'm a good girl."

"Always…?"

She giggled, patting his chest with her hand, "Turn over and cuddle me."

Groaning he slowly turned over, one arm spreading open on the pillow behind her, she shifted slightly until he was lying on his back and she could press her face against his chest and relax in the warmth of his embrace.

"Any time."

"You know, it's Christmas morning." She whispered. "Our first one together."

"Merry Christmas Ms Hughes." He said gently, slipping back to sleep.

My last one as 'Ms Hughes,' she thought as she closed her eyes and let the steady beat of his heart lull her back to sleep.

* * *

**Christmas Day – One Year Earlier**

Lying on his back Charles stared up at the ceiling, his eyes followed the curves of the artex, the circular pattern as it worked its way around and around until forming a circle around the elaborate light fitting.

Isobel had never been one to do things by halves and this room was one more example of her exquisite, if not extravagant, taste.

It was still early, not even six, and even the children were still asleep. He pondered that once again he was the only non-family member (strictly speaking) joining them for their festive celebrations.

He reached to the side table for his phone, flipping his thumb over the pass code and immediately going to his pictures. It was five days since he'd seen Elsie, they were both busy with the Christmas rush, and he missed her. He found a shot he'd taken of her over dinner, leaning on the table with her hand tucked under her chin supporting her head. She wore a lopsided smile, as if irritated by having to pose for a picture.

Absently he stroked her face, then instinctively flicked to her number and called.

A few moments later her voice sleepily answered, "Hi."

"Hello." He smiled, leaning back into his pillows.

"It's early."

"Oh damn it is, I'm sorry, I woke you."

He heard her bed sheets rustling as she sat up. "I was already awake."

"Oh, good. So, Merry Christmas." He smiled again, taking delight in the fact he could say those words to her on Christmas morning."

"Merry Christmas Mr Carson. And where are you?"

"In a rather large bed, a bed that has gold sheets on it."

"Wow, they must be heavy."

He chuckled, "I guess so…" he breathed deeply, one hand scrunching the quilt covering his chest. "Kinda wish you were here."

"I'll see you next week, all ready for Edinburgh. I'm getting excited, I've always wanted to do Hogmanay."

"I'm excited too." He didn't add that his excitement stemmed from always wanting to spend New Year as part of a couple, and years of wanting to spend time with her. After almost five months of dating he very much felt they were that – a couple.

She smiled at his sudden silence, "So, did you just call to say _Merry Christmas_?"

"I suppose so. And because I was thinking of you."

"That's sweet."

"I hope you like your presents."

"I'm sure I will. I hope you like yours too. I feel bad you gave me four and I gave you one."

"Yours came in a big box."

"I hope you've not been peeking."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He smiled. "So, you're going to your friend's for the day?"

"I am, with my daughter."

"Could I maybe… I mean, can we talk… later?"

"Of course. I'll probably end up sleeping over there and it's a noisy house what with all the kids and everything so if I don't answer its because I won't have heard it, not that I'm ignoring your call."

"Okay."

"Text me…"

"You know I struggle with that."

She smiled, "Then I'll text you."

"Thanks."

She bit her lip, listened to his breathing on the other end of the line. "I'm going to have to go…" her voice was gentle, almost regretful. "I have to shower and…"

"I know. You need to go get a cup of tea."

She smiled again; he had a way of making her smile, she wasn't used to it. "No better way to start the day." She breathed, her fingers sliding down the side of her phone. "Have a lovely day Charles."

"And you, Elsie."

* * *

**Christmas Day – Present**

As a child Charles had learned that being alone was the norm. He'd learned how to be quiet and remain in his room. He'd learned to wait to be called upon and how to impress and how to meet standards. He'd convinced himself that he really only needed himself.

As with every child the world over he woke early on Christmas Day, he lay reading in his bed waiting for the slightest sound which signalled he could rise and race downstairs.

The years of practice had served him well, and now, despite his excitement to get up and start the day, he remained still and silent. The bedroom in which he slept was a far cry from the one he'd once occupied as a lad – Elsie's touch meant it was bright and calm, the bed linen luxurious and warming.

He stroked his hand down her back, felt her soft body press against his.

"Good morning," she whispered against his chest.

"Thought you were asleep."

"Too excited." She lifted her head slightly, licked her lips. "Merry Christmas darling."

He smiled slowly, cradling her even closer, "Merry Christmas. Can we get up now?"

"Hmm, give me a few minutes to wake up."

He paused, kissed her head, glanced to the ticking clock on the bedside table, "Is that long enough?"

"Charles. You're worse than a child."

"I can't wait for you to open your presents." He tickled her waist. "The one morning of the year you're not dashing out of bed for the loo."

"If I wasn't half asleep I'd slap you for your cheek."

"Come on, I never got to do this as a kid, mother was always quite proper."

She breathed deeply, the warm exhale of her breath landing on his chest. "Which explains why you find it hard to be spontaneous."

"It does." He kissed her head. "Though let's not forget my most brilliant, romantic way of asking you out for dinner."

She moved her head slightly, opening her eyes. "You mean your bumbling statement that going out for dinner might be nice."

"Yes," he chuckled, "as I said, 'most brilliant.' Now come on darling, get up."

Groaning she rolled from him, onto her back, pushing the sheets down to her waist. "I need a cup of tea before I can function."

"I know." He leant up on his elbow to look down at her, "And I'm making a proper breakfast too."

"I can't eat a huge breakfast and then a huge roast dinner, I'll either burst or be asleep by four."

"That's what Christmas is about." He traced his fingers up her stomach, "We'll have breakfast, open presents, go to church, put the turkey in, go for a walk, and have a late lunch – more like an afternoon lunch. Then play games and fall asleep watching television."

"You've got it all planned out." She said, a wry smile on her face.

"I have. Ooh, I almost forgot the Queen's speech."

"Well, of course we couldn't miss that." She rolled onto her side to face him, "You know, I'm rather looking forward to the church bit – doing a bit of singing. I enjoyed it last night."

"Not going to cry again?"

She smiled, "I shall try not to, can't guarantee."

"I'm looking forward to having you on my arm, crying over Silent Night or not."

"I may cry to Away in a Manger too if I look at Anna during it."

"Fair enough. I can understand that."

"That's because secretly you're a real softie too." She leant forward to kiss him, "And I want to see you in a dashing suit and show off my handsome fiancé."

"If we were alone in the house…" he said lowly, tiptoeing his fingers over her shoulder. "…I'd add something else to my list."

"I'm sure you would." She caught his fingers in hers and kissed them. "Do I have time for a shower before breakfast? Unless you want me to help, I don't mind."

"No. You shower. I've been looking forward to spoiling you – I see how hard you've worked over the past two months, you deserve a break."

"You've done all the prep for today – food shopping and sorting out this damned thermostat I can't figure out how to work."

He chuckled, "It should be fine now, it's on a timer." His stomach rumbled as if on cue. "As is my belly, it seems."

She smiled as she watched him get out of bed and reach for his robe. "Toasty in here you see, because the heating came on at 4a.m."

"All in the preparation." She acknowledged. "And of all the people I've known in my life you have the preparation thing down."

"What can I say…." He leant over the bed and kissed her, "I like to be prepared for any eventuality. Shall we say half-an-hour?"

"I'll be there honey."

* * *

**Christmas Day – Eight Years Earlier**

Pushing his chair back from the dining table Charles collected his plate and turned to follow the maid into the kitchen.

"Really darling," Violet said, sitting regal at the head of the table. "They are paid to do that."

"I needed a breath of air mother," Charles said, "Won't run away."

He closed the door behind him and set his plate down beside the other dishes, "Sorry about my mother," he said gently, watching as the two women stacked the dishwasher.

"No bother sir."

"It can't be much fun, working Christmas Day."

"You get used to it. Have done for years. It's not so bad; we'll be on our way for three. Nice to have my daughter help out this year."

"Oh I see," he noted the younger girl properly for the first time. "And she looks like you."

The girl rolled her eyes at him and he covered a chuckle with his hand.

"Off somewhere nice for dinner I hope."

"Family," the older one, said. "We'll all be there. My parents, siblings, cousins… you know."

"You have a big family?"

"I've got three brothers at home, unfortunately." The younger girl smiled as she shut the door on the dishwasher and moved past Charles to get to the sink.

"Excuse me, I'm in your way." He said, stepping towards the back door. "Holding you up."

"It's no bother sir."

He watched them work, realising their chatter with him was part and parcel of being polite. Staff paid to do a job. That particular maid had been present at almost every one of Isobel's fancy dos; she was friendly, efficient, but goodness knows how she saw him – a stuffy old man who hung around the kitchen at parties.

Realising his foolishness he turned and stepped out into the crisp December air. There was frost on the ground and he hugged his jacket around him as he walked the perimeter of the building.

The trees were bare now, dust covered, their limbs laden with melting snow from the early fall. The gravel was sharp underfoot and he kicked lazily at it as he made his way around for a second time.

When he passed the back garden again the French doors opened and Richard came out, Charles' coat hung over his arm and two glasses of amber liquid in his hand.

"Fancy a drink old man, keep you warm? If you don't mind the company."

"Not at all, and thank you." He took the drink from him, "Brandy?"

"The Scottish stuff."

"Even better. And maybe a couple of cigars?"

"You know I don't smoke."

"It's Christmas Day and you can treat yourself. Come on." He led him toward the bench and they sat side-by-side, close enough for warmth. "You're melancholy today."

"Sorry. I take it mother is lamenting my bad behaviour."

"Not really," Richard blew out a long line of smoke, and they watched it curl into the cold air. "But I believe she'd like you back in time for the Christmas Pud."

Charles laughed, "Priorities. Thanks for inviting us, again, I should add."

"You know you're always welcome."

"Getting rather full though now, a grandchild on the way."

Richard chuckled, setting his legs out in front of him. "Izzy's beside herself with excitement, as you can guess."

"As one would expect. You know you have it all, don't you?" Charles said, his voice a mix of amusement, sarcasm and perhaps tinged with envy.

"Ha. Do I indeed?"

"Of course. Practice continues to do well. Family is thriving. And most of all, love, you have that." He knocked his glass against Richard's.

"Good lord, you are melancholy today."

Charles shrugged, "Maybe it's turning fifty, I don't know. Maybe it's another Christmas spent with my mother. Same routines."

"That woman you were seeing, nothing come of it?"

"We had three dates, I'd hardly call it anything. She wasn't interested." He downed his drink.

"Sorry."

"It is what it is."

"Not like you to mope."

"No. And I mustn't." He laughed coldly, "I've just been talking to your maid about her huge family and for a brief second I considered if she'd be interested in dating me. Then I realised I'd reached stalker like territory."

Richard shrugged, "She's a pretty lady."

"Who has nothing at all in common with me."

"You know Charles, there's nothing wrong with admitting you're lonely."

"Perhaps not." He glanced back inside, saw Violet holding the floor. "But then one doesn't have time for such trivialities." He slapped his legs, getting to his feet. "Come on, mother will be complaining and I'm supposing charades will begin soon."

"Which you'll win again."

"Let's put money on it, I could do with a healthy dose of optimism."

Richard watched his friend head back to the house, head down, a slight slump to his shoulders. It wasn't the Charles he knew. For years, too many years to count, he'd assured him he'd find love – at sometime, in some place – how elusive it was proving to be. Happiness.

* * *

**Christmas Day - present**

"This is uncanny," Anna said, scribbling on the small pad in her hand and chewing on the end of the pencil.

"What?" Elsie turned again, switching her curled legs from facing east to west.

"You two. The exact same score, for the second time running."

"Oh honey, we're so in sync," Elsie laughed, patting Charles' knee.

"You know too many bloody words," Anna grumbled, glancing at her own useless letters. "Remind me never to play Scrabble with you again, in fact is it even safe for you two to play this alone together – it might come to blows if one loses."

"She'll win." Charles stretched his legs out beneath the coffee table and reached for his wine glass. "She always has the last word."

"Oh ha bloody ha, have you been holding onto that one for a while?"

"Ever since I opened the gift and found a Scrabble board."

She squeezed his leg again, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "You like it though?"

"You kidding? Look at how fancy it is, a deluxe Scrabble board with an extravagant turning-table and a red velvet bag to hold the wood-carved letters. It's a dream."

Anna and Elsie laughed together.

"I think 'yes' would have done," Anna teased.

"Says the girl who flipped out over getting books." Elsie smiled.

"Erm, the complete Beatrix Potter library for my child's nursery bookshelf is a big deal."

"And well worth 'flipping out' over." Charles agreed, having been the one to choose them.

"You think lightweight here will make it to bed?" Elsie asked, indicating John asleep on the couch behind them.

"Some children can't handle the excitement." Anna said, kneeling up to look at him.

"And the ring…?" Charles said as nonchalantly as he could manage, shaking the bag and picking his letters.

Elsie watched the emotions play out over Anna's face, she'd wanted to ask the same question all day but had somehow resisted.

"We aren't getting married." Anna said lowly. "It's just a promise… or something…"

"A promise ring?" Elsie said sceptically.

"Mum." Anna warned. "There's enough to think about with this," she rolled her palm over her growing belly. "I don't want to think of anything else. Other than making a good job of this shop."

"If it's too much," Charles said, sliding his glasses off. "I didn't mean to add on more pressure, I wanted to help."

"God I don't think that. You have helped. It's just… John will have to manage on his own when this one arrives."

"I'll be there. I'll help. Either with the baby or the shop."

"I know which he'd be safer with," Elsie smiled, leaning against his arm and yawning.

"I've got to learn how to change a nappy at some point." He slid his arm around her back. "And don't think I don't know what you're trying to do, sneak a look at my letters."

"As if I would cheat."

"As if…" Anna laughed.

"Now don't you start that, remember Monopoly? You and your father must have cheated me out of hundreds over the years…" The awkward silence that followed the mention of 'her father' seemed to stretch on and Elsie mentally berated herself for altering the tone.

She was actually glad when John's loud snore broke the silence and Charles laughed as he got to his feet.

"Shall I make cocoa?"

"I can't possibly fit anything else in my body." Anna leant against the edge of the coffee table to hoist herself up.

"Let me help." Charles caught her arms, his sturdy frame easily supporting her slight one as she stood.

"I'll have a glass of water though, if that's okay."

"Of course."

"If I can get John awake I might suggest we watch a movie. What do you think mum?"

"I'm so tired darling," Elsie said, glancing up at Charles. "It's been a long, busy day."

"Bed then?" He asked, holding his hand out to help her up.

"Mmm. Though I don't mind if you want to watch the movie."

"I'm absolutely knackered." He admitted with a grin, "Cooking Christmas dinner is hefty work."

"Oh but you did it so well."

"Loved the festive apron especially." A sleepy voice came from the couch.

"Oh, so you're awake are you Mr Bates?!" Anna threw a cushion at his head.

"Nothing wrong with an afternoon snooze after a great festive meal."

"Especially when you do it still wearing your paper crown." Elsie swiped it from his head. "Very fetching. Okay, I can barely keep my eyes open, bed for me." She leant over to kiss Anna, "Night sweetheart."

"Night mum. Thanks for a lovely day."

"You're welcome. Thank you for my lovely gifts, and you John."

"Welcome." He pushed himself to sit up, waving his arm at her; clearly he was still a little inebriated. "Come give us a hug Els."

"Err… really…" Charles frowned.

"You're drunk young man," she resisted a hug but patted his back as she passed by the couch, mostly to leave the day with a pleasant afterglow rather than an awkward one.

"And you?" She pressed her hand against Charles' arm, "Are you coming up?"

"I'll make myself some tea and get Anna's water and I'm right behind you."

"Okay." She yawned, heading up to bed.

* * *

She was half asleep when he joined her, and she watched in the darkness as he undressed and slid into bed beside her.

"Hello."

"Hello," she smiled, lying on her back and waiting until he was settled, his head on her chest. "Comfortable?"

"Very."

She stroked her hand through his hair, "You enjoyed the day?"

"Very much."

"Everything you hoped for?"

"Its what family is all about isn't it. Eating and board games."

"Your turkey was outstanding."

"As were your mince pies."

"Why thank you." She kissed the top of his head, her fingers trailing down over his bare shoulder.

"Mmm, you smell good." He buried his face against her chest, breathing her in.

"Now don't start that."

"I don't know what you mean," he grinned, his fingers sliding down her legs until he reached the hem of her nightgown.

"Charles…" She warned, her tone low.

"Hmm? I'm just testing something."

"I'm sure you are."

She wiggled against him as he pushed up the material of her nightgown.

"Charles."

"I just want to be against your skin."

She shook her head as he pushed it up her chest and she pulled it over her head and threw it aside. They settled down again, this time his cheek against her breast.

"Happy now?"

"Happier. Though I am looking forward to being alone with you again."

"They've only been here two days."

"Still…"

"Still." She stroked her palm over his back beneath the sheets. "I'm sorry I ruined the atmosphere."

"You didn't."

"I think I did." She sighed.

"Nobody expects for neither of you to mention him – he is her father, you shared many Christmases together. I'm a grown up Els, I can deal with that."

"I thank God every day for you." She admitted in a whisper, brushing his hair back with her fingertips. "I may not thank _you_ enough."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I feel incredibly lucky, to find this at all is some kind of miracle. To find it at my age…"

"We're both incredibly lucky." He lifted his head to look at her, smiling lopsidedly. "At our age."

"Love you."

"...Very, very much." He bent to kiss her, finding her lips soft, her mouth warm. She hummed beneath him and he easily rolled on top of her, her legs parting around him.

"Elspeth…" he breathed against her lips. "My love."

"Mmm," her nails slightly dug into the soft skin of his shoulders. "We can't." She slowly broke the kiss, moving her mouth over his cheek, to his forehead, hands either side of his face.

"Tempting though." He smiled down at her. "Though I'm not sure it would be much of a performance, I'm so tired. Maybe a four at best."

She giggled, tapping his shoulders now, "Oh how romantic."

"You just wait til I'm 100%, I'll thank you properly for my presents."

"I'm glad you liked them all." She stretched beneath him, trailing her fingers up the back of his neck. "And I can't thank you enough for that gorgeous heart."

"_Bling,_ did Anna call it? I've never heard that term in my life."

"Bling indeed." She stretched her back, pushing her chest forward.

"Tease." He smiled, admiring her body.

"My shoulders ache from sitting on the floor."

"I'll move." But he bent his head down and kissed her again before he did so.

Flopping onto her side she pulled the quilt over her arm and Charles snuggled behind her.

"Better than last year." He whispered by her ear. "A rushed conversation in the evening with the sounds of mayhem behind you."

"That's how tomorrow will be," she said smiling, eyes closed, her hand stroking the top of his where it lay on her stomach. "Boxing Day at Beryl's."

"I'll be saturated with human contact." He said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I used to crave it, now you've filled my life with it…"

"And?" She asked lowly.

"And it's wonderful." He squeezed her stomach, kissing the back of her neck, his face buried in her hair. "Best Christmas Day ever."

* * *

**And if you're so inclined - some Stevie Wonder to finish, 'You and I', go take a listen.**

_Here we are on earth together,  
I__t's you and I,  
__God has made us fall in love, it's true,  
__I've really found someone like you._

_Will it stay the love you feel for me? Will it stay?  
__That you will be by my side,  
__To see me through,  
__Until my life is through_

_Well, in my mind, we can conquer the world,  
__In love you and I, you and I, you and I._

_I am glad at least in my life I found someone  
__That may not be here forever to see me through,  
__But I found strength in you.  
__I only pray that I have shown you a brighter day,  
__Because that's all that I am living for, you see,  
__Don't worry what happens to me._

_Cause' in my mind, you will stay here always,  
__In love, you and I, you and I, you and I, you and I  
__In my mind we can conquer the world  
__In love, you and I, you and I, you and I.  
_

**_Please leave me a review - they're my incentive! And next time, New Year celebrations._**


	39. Chapter 39a

_I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for SUCH a long time!_

_Originally it was meant to be New Year comparisons between 2014 and 2015. But the flashback sequence kinda took over and is already 12000 plus words so 2015 was moved to chapter 40._

_However, as I'm still having issues trying to post anything over 8000 words I've decided to split it into 39a and 39b (I'll post them close together because of course they were meant to be read that way). But I'm going away tomorrow and don't want to risk not being able to post an update._

_I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! x_

* * *

**Chapter 39a – ****_And then Charles_**

**Late December 2014**

Dragging her small case into the hallway Elsie glanced at herself in the mirror and reached up to toy with her hair. When she'd suggested the trip to Edinburgh – back in the summer – he'd quickly agreed, confident they'd still be seeing each other; she figured if things had gone wrong she'd let him have the hotel and tickets and he could take a friend.

As it was things between them, what she was hesitant to label as a 'relationship', were going well. Until of course Joe showed up, and she'd kissed him in her kitchen and felt his hands on her body, and since then she'd struggled to clear up in her own head what was going on.

Joe always had a way of making her feel like she needed him, making her feel like she loved him, that was why she'd stayed in the marriage so long. That and Anna. Somehow, whenever he was near, she felt weak, dependent.

The months after he'd left she'd felt depleted and empty. It was odd to try and rebuild her life, to find herself again, after being told who she was for so very long. She could make choices, and even simple things, like what she'd have for dinner on any given night, had taken some getting used to.

Slowly, she felt her confidence build and the personality she'd let sleep for so very long awaken. _And then Charles._ And finding she could be herself with him and he judged nothing, expected nothing more than her company, her companionship.

The buzz of her intercom interrupted her musings and she quickly pressed the door release and went to the kitchen to check all appliances were turned off, she repeated the same in the bedroom and then returned to the hall waiting for his knock.

As it were she might have considered cancelling, she'd felt lousy ever since Joe's visit, but when they'd had dinner a few days before Christmas he'd been so wonderfully sweet and excitable about this trip that she couldn't possibly imagine hurting him.

She slid the chain off and opened the door to him.

"Hi," she smiled.

"Hello." He grinned, his hands dug in his pockets. "It's pretty cold out. Are you ready?"

"I am indeed, just need to get my coat."

He followed her in, rubbing his hands together to stave off the cold, she was wearing loose trousers and a beige sweater and he thought it one of the few times he'd seen her dressed casually. "Only the one small case, I'm impressed."

"Very funny. You have different expectations of women?"

He picked up her case, "I've heard on the grapevine they don't travel light."

"Oh you have, have you?" She watched a slight grimace pass over his features. "Whatever's wrong?"

"I may have hurt my back."

"How on earth?"

"It's just a twinge, was playing games on Christmas Day at my friend's house and twisted a bit too much." He straightened up. "It's getting better."

She rested a hand on his arm, taking the case from him, "And you're driving all the way to Edinburgh…"

"I'll be fine."

"I'll drive," she insisted, hooking her handbag over her arm.

"No."

"Why ever not?"

"Well, because you're…" he lifted a hand towards her. "…you're…"

"A woman? Is that what you're going to say? Heavens Charles. I can drive."

"That's not what I meant. I meant I'm the man, I should do the driving."

"Why?"

"Because it's how things are done."

"Do you know how stuffy that sounds?"

"I am beginning to, yes."

"Then we'll share the driving? Half way break we swap."

He tilted his chin, a slight smirk playing on his lips, she was tenacious and he found he liked it. "Deal."

* * *

An hour into the journey they stopped at the services as Elsie needed the loo, purchased take-away coffees and continued on their way. Only this time with Elsie at the wheel.

"Oh god, I can't wait to get these pants off." She exclaimed, squirming in her seat.

Wide-eyed and amused Charles turned to observe her, "That's quite some pick-up line."

"Ha. You wish. I mean this is the most uncomfortable pair of knickers," she squirmed again, shuffling from one side to the other. "French knickers. My daughter thought it amusing to purchase them for me as a Christmas gift, insisting I need to wear sexier underwear now I'm dating."

Charles felt as if he were watching her open-mouthed the entire time she spoke, his knuckles white where he gripped his coffee cup. 'Dating', her daughter viewed them as 'dating', he wondered what that meant – what it meant to her. What she'd told her daughter about him.

"Believe me, there is nothing sexy about this feeling." She continued.

"Can't trust anything French." He teased.

"Ohh, scandalous."

"Name me something French… besides these er… knickers."

"Hmm, French cooking, French pastries." She glanced at him, waggling her eyebrows. "French kissing."

"Touché."

"French." She said pointedly.

"Maybe it's sitting in them for hours on end in the car, you know we could have taken the train."

"You saw how much it cost, and not really any quicker. We've paid enough for the hotel and the privilege of being here."

"I'm looking forward to it being rather luxurious. The websites I read highly recommended it."

She smiled, squeezing the steering wheel; he was so thorough about preparing for these things.

"Though I did feel a fool when I rang up three weeks ago to change the booking from two rooms to one." He felt his cheeks warm as he said it and purposefully kept his eyes fixed on the motorway. When they'd decided on this New Year break it was as friends verging on something more, five months later and finally (finally) they'd started sleeping together and it was definitely something more. He could count on one hand the number of times they'd had sex in the past three weeks (five exactly) and he was both nervous and exhilarated at the thought of having four whole days alone with her sharing a hotel room.

He hoped to God he could live up to expectations. Sleeping together after an evening out and then not seeing each other for a week was one thing. Spending an extended amount of time together in one another's space was surely make or break.

"Were they funny about it?" She asked.

"Not really. We lost the deposit, but I'll pay that, it doesn't matter."

"Of course you won't. We'll split it as we will the bill at the end of our stay."

"You're quite independent aren't you?"

She breathed deeply, "I am now, or trying to be. Sorry if I come across as rude."

"Not at all."

"I spent far too many years doing what made someone else happy."

He assumed she meant her husband but he didn't want to pry, she was intensely private on some matters, her marriage being top of the list.

"You sure you don't mind sharing the driving?" He asked.

"Of course not. I like to drive. How's your back feeling?"

"Better not driving," his chair was reclined quite far back. "I should learn not to over-exert myself at charades, I do it every year."

She snorted.

"What?"

"You and charades."

"Christmas tradition." He said, sipping his coffee. "So, you had a good Christmas? You haven't said."

She swallowed, a flash of Joe's mouth on hers in her mind, "Yes. It was fine. Good. You know, the same."

"The same?"

"Well, we go to Beryl's, Anna and I, since the… the divorce."

"Ah, yes. Well, it's always a bit awkward isn't it, being at a friend's place. I've had years of it, too many to count. And I still feel a bit awkward at times."

"Hmm…" he watched as she chewed down on her lip. "You mind if we have the radio on for a while?"

"Course not." He said, sipping the last of his coffee. Every now and then he felt he was growing closer to her, inching through the barriers she kept up, and then it was all he could do to stand and watch as they went back up.

"Britney." She said and he stared at her.

"Sorry?"

"Britney bitch," she drawled glancing at him then laughing at his incredulous expression. "You know," she pointed at the stereo, "this is an older one though."

He watched as she tapped out the beat on the steering wheel, and then lightly sang along with the chorus, "I'm a slave for you…"

"Good Lord, the rubbish they put in pop songs."

She chuckled, "Now why am I not surprised by that statement. I like pop music," she wiggled in her chair again and he wondered if the underwear was still bothering her.

"She's singing about being somebody's slave."

"Yes. But think about it, I mean she's talking about passion, being so hung up on this guy she'd do anything for him if he just wants to 'come and get it'. Isn't that what poets have used as inspiration for years – sex – the power of sex? Passion and intoxication? Love as a drug. 'My vegetable love should grow vaster than Empires.'"

"Marvell." He smiled.

"A-ha, she's just singing about the same thing."

"Quite the lesson Mrs Hughes."

"Ha ha, and I'm not even a Lit teacher."

"Ooh I like this song," she said, turning up the volume and bopping about in her seat, he gripped the dashboard with one hand, glancing at the road ahead, perhaps he should drive again.

"Such a great tune." She exclaimed.

"Oh, it sounds it." He deadpanned, rolling his eyes at the sound of the young man grunting over the introduction to the track.

"What's he even going on about?" He asked, trying to make out the lyrics.

"More sex I'm afraid," she laughed. "And perhaps a bit of love, finding love and that wonderful feeling you get when you don't want to be apart from that person. Listen…"

_'Never had much faith in love or miracles…'_

She glanced at Charles, biting the inside of her cheek as his face set in concentration as he listened.

As the bridge kicked in she found she couldn't help but move again, she always sang in the car with Anna on lengthy journeys, it cheered the mood of the dull motorway.

"Cos your sex takes me to paradise…" she sang, avoiding his questioning gaze. "…And it shows, cos you make me feel like, I've been locked out of heaven for too long." She sang loudly and then chuckled, throwing her head back and eyeing his growing smile.

"I'm assuming the _opening of gates_ is a metaphor." He said as the song continued, but she noted his fingers were tapping the beat on the dashboard.

"Cos you make me feel like, I've been locked out of heaven for too long." She sang again, slowing as they approached a line of traffic. "Oh that was wonderful," she said as the song ended and she turned down the volume as the presenter spoke over the top. "Great song."

"I can see you enjoyed it at least."

"I hope they play that somewhere this weekend so we can dance to it."

"Dance?" He exclaimed.

"It's New Year's Eve, we'll be out dancing, trailing from place to place slowly getting drunk."

"Don't you do that when you're twenty-two?"

"Yes. But I never did," she turned to look at him, "Did you?"

He shook his head, "I guess not. Not properly anyhow."

"Well then, let's pretend we're twenty-two."

"Unfortunately, I look closer to sixty-two."

"Charles…" she smiled. "Believe me, the bars will be packed with all walks of life come Wednesday night."

He rolled his eyes, "Reassuring. News..." He turned up the volume and they sat in silence as they listened.

"Oh bollocks," Elsie chided as she slowed again, the car coming to a complete halt. "Bloody traffic."

"Nothing worse than queuing on the motorway." Charles noted.

"Perhaps queuing on the motorway when you need the loo."

"Again?"

"It's age." She chuckled, lifting one finger up from the steering wheel and pointing it at the yellow transit van in front of them. "Look at the number plate on that."

Charles looked up to the van, 'Stephen's Free Range Eggs' was written across the back of the two doors, a phone number beneath and the number plate: ST3 EGG.

"How very droll."

"I bet that was expensive."

"Must be dedicated to his chickens."

"Ha! Now that _is _droll."

_'__Time to slow it down for our thirty minutes of love, and you know what that means people, heartbreak too. So, take a moment people, make a cup of tea and take a load off for half an hour.'_

"Clearly the presenter doesn't know you need to pee." Charles smiled.

The pair of them sat quiet again, staring at the unmoving traffic stretching out in front of them listening to the music.

_'__Every Sunday's getting more bleak, fresh poison each week.'_

"This is a darker mood," Charles said gently listening to the words.

_'…__she tells me worship in the bedroom. The only heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you…'_

"I'm hearing a theme," he said again but then quieted as the chorus kicked in.

_'__Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.'_

'What's it about?" He asked, "Do you know it?"

"Anna likes him. She played the album to me, ages ago now, some of it was okay. I think it's about hypocrisy, the hypocrisy of the church and stating whom we love, who we can love. Homophobia. That's how I interpret it anyhow."

"The love laws. That's what Arundhati Roy called them."

"Is that a book?"

"The God of Small Things. A very odd but ultimately wonderful book, the relationships in that are determined by the Love Laws, who we are allowed to love going by society's rules."

"I might read it."

"I'll get you a copy. You can borrow mine."

"You surprise me, that you like such a book."

"Well, it's not just about that. I read all the new stuff that comes in, everything recommended and nominated for prizes and such. It's about India and…" he shot a glance across at her, "You think me homophobic?"

"No, of course not," she put the car into first gear as they eased forward slightly, "I guess I've never really thought about it."

"One of my friends is gay, Thomas, I've mentioned him before?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure."

"He's gay, though he flits from one relationship – I hesitate to call them such – to another. And that I don't agree with."

"I guess nowadays we are at least more aware of STDs. And children have such a different view of it all. Certainly when I was a child it was never even discussed, I don't know about you. And when Anna was at school 'gay' was used as an insult, a term to belittle other boys. From what I see now children don't do that so much, some do, don't get me wrong, depends on your background. But most are just accepting of it, thank goodness."

"Indeed."

She turned to glance at him; perhaps he was more liberal than she thought.

"So, talking of STDs…" he said, feeling his face flush red as the words passed his lips.

"Oh god, what are you going to tell me?"

"Nothing that's er…" he coughed, gripped his knee with his right hand. "We discussed, I mean you said that you… that you'd been to the Doctors recently… so I went and got tested just to be safe now that we're er… you know."

She grinned at him, "Having sex."

"Yes that."

She grinned again, "_That."_

"Don't embarrass me."

"Okay, I'm sorry." she looked away again; glad to see a 'Services' sign coming up. "So I'm guessing you're telling me because you got the all clear?"

"I did indeed."

"Alright. And what would you like me to do with that information?" She asked as she indicated to turn left.

He felt decidedly uncomfortable now, his cheeks burning with shame.

"Nothing, I just thought I'd tell you and… and I have, so that's that isn't it."

"Oh. Okay." She pulled into a space, biting her lip before giggling and unhooking her seatbelt. She leant over and kissed his cheek. "I'm only teasing you, thank you for getting tested. Means I'll have to discard the box of 100 condoms I was hoping to get through over the next four days but there you go, maybe I can save them for somebody else."

He twisted his neck sharply to look at her, then shook his head, "You're teasing again?"

"I am."

"You have a wicked sense of humour."

"I know. I'm very naughty. And now I'm going to run inside and use the toilet, you want me to get you anything?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay, won't be a minute."

Exactly eight minutes later Charles spied her exiting the Services, she carried a bottle of water in one hand (which he thought a bad idea considering her weak bladder) and waved a bag at him whilst grinning, her scarf blowing about her in the breeze. He hoped to god it wasn't a huge box of condoms. He'd die from shame if she mentioned it again.

She opened the passenger door and bent down beside him, "Got something for you."

"It's not a joke is it?"

"Of course not, what makes you think it would be?" She pulled out a cushion from the bag, adorned with the Scottish flag. "For your back in the car, should help support it, it's quite firm." She eased it behind him. "And patriotic too."

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful."

"I am thoughtful. A joke indeed." She tutted as she got back to her feet. "If I was going to joke I'd tell you I'd called the hotel and reinstated our separate rooms after the STD information."

"Oh god…" he groaned, listening to her wicked laughter as she moved around the car and got back in the driver's side.

* * *

Charles was lying half on top of her, half to one side, her head twisted to his on the pillow, their mouths communicating in soft, long kisses, unrushed, undemanding.

He could feel her fingertips running up and down his back, one hand on his arm doing the same, up to his neck then back down again. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her warm thighs still gripping him and the heat between her legs driving him to distraction.

They'd just made love (how he liked to think of it now) after arriving at the hotel less than an hour ago. Their suitcases still stood in the centre of the room, their clothes discarded, her jumper and bra hanging off the bottom of the bed.

Outside he could hear the rush of late afternoon traffic, the noise of a hotel preparing for a busy few days. In their room he could only hear the sound of her breathing, the tender moans coming from the back of her throat, the creak of the bed beneath them as they moved.

His lips travelled over her chin down to her neck, across her collarbone and then back up, her lips eagerly meeting his as their noses bumped. He felt her mouth curl into a smile, both of her hands gripping his shoulders as she giggled.

"What?" He murmured by her mouth, his voice thick with lust and desire, body heavy with the lethargy that follows sex.

When he opened his eyes hers were so close, sparkling bright blue, her cheekbones high and flushed with rose as she smiled knowingly. Their lips continued to stroke the others, as if unable to part for more than a second.

"I can't stop kissing you." He mumbled.

"I noticed." And he understood the reason for her smile.

"Well…" he breathed, pulling back slightly, one arm resting on the pillow by her head, his fingers toying with her hair spread out on the pillow. "You're intoxicating."

She grinned, "Am I? I can assure you I've certainly never been called that before."

"Well that's just ridiculous. Because you are, I'm proof of that."

She shifted slightly beneath him, moving her body marginally and he bit his lip to stifle the groan of what she was doing to him, what she did to him.

Her arms were still tight around his back, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other reaching up to stroke his cheek with the side of her hand. "You're such a good man," she whispered, his face centimetres from hers.

His brow furrowed, eyes almost hurt and she smiled gently at him, "I meant that positively, I'm not being flippant. You are a good man. And I haven't known many good men."

Her eyes turned sad but he held her gaze, silent for several seconds, the moment probably the most intense they'd shared so far – he'd never felt so close to her.

"I haven't known anybody like you. You're a very special woman Elsie."

"I think you think more of me than you should."

"Nonsense. You're quite…" He swallowed and she grinned.

"Intoxicating?"

"Yes… that… and more."

She tilted her chin again, her nose nudging his and he pressed his mouth against hers, soft and whole, feeling her hands slide down his back and grip his backside. He was still positioned between her legs and it didn't take much for his erection to come to life again – she _was_ intoxicating, he was finding he couldn't get enough of her, in every sense.

Her groans filled his head as their bodies joined, her fingers on his shoulders firmer as her body rose beneath his, meeting together so deliciously – it seemed to him they were meant to fit together, though he was careful not to tell her as much.

She was still slick and felt so good, like heaven to him, he thought of the song from earlier in the day and embraced fully what the young man was saying. She was heaven. He'd finally found it.

This time it took little effort, no need to start slow and build the pleasure – they were both already on the edge and the slightest movement shot fissures of delight through their bodies. Every cell alive, every muscle tensed and ready for the approaching climax.

Collapsing on top of her his body seemed to be floating, there was buzzing in his ears and the sweet smell of her filling his nostrils. His lips whispered over her neck where his head lay and then he felt her throat constrict and her giggles filled his ears.

He lifted his head up, confused.

"I'm sorry," she waved a hand, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles but she couldn't keep it in. Her laughter was growing unmanageable. "That didn't even last three minutes." She laughed and he quickly joined in her mirth, their bodies moving in a very different way together now as their laughter filled the room.

"I guess it isn't just twenty-two year olds that get carried away."

She slid a hand up onto his shoulder, her giggles subsiding, "I guess so."

Pushing at his body she slipped out from beneath him and he rolled onto his side, supporting his head with one arm as he watched her sit on the edge of the bed and stretch her back. From his position he had a perfect view of her figure, the sway of her hair as it curled at the base of her neck, tickling her skin, the curve of her waist, the slight flair of her hips, the roundness of her bottom. He wanted to tiptoe his fingers down her spine and count each one of her freckles, dot each one with a kiss.

"Shall we go out for some food?" She asked, glancing back at him. "It's already going dark, not even five."

"Yes. Let's have a wander about."

"How's your back?" She said, her lips curling into a smile.

"Funnily enough I'd forgotten all about it."

Sighing she got to her feet and he watched transfixed as she crossed into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Rolling onto his back he folded his arms beneath his head, realising after several minutes that there seemed to be a grin fixed to his face, it stretched his mouth, made his cheeks ache… and it felt wonderful.

* * *

They ate pizza, something Charles didn't often choose but she convinced him to give it a go. Some street vendor with an outdoor pizza oven and they bought three – the three flavours available – because neither could decide which to go for.

It was icy cold and they found an empty bench and sat with the boxes between them.

"We look greedy." Charles stated, never comfortable eating outdoors with passers-by looking on.

"Just indecisive," she smiled, but she flattened the pizza lid and rearranged the slices until they all fit on the one box, "there we go, better?"

"Yes."

"They're hardly large anyhow." She got up.

"Where are you off to now?"

She waved the empty boxes at him and he watched as she stuffed them into a nearby bin.

"And how do we…?"

Opening her bag she took out a bunch of napkins and handed some across to him.

"You're well organised."

"I picked them up from the side as you paid." She picked up a slice of pizza, "I'm starving."

"Me too." He selected one himself, rolling the tip of the triangular piece over and eating half of the slice in one bite – she'd over-exerted him already, and they'd only been there a few hours.

Leaning back in her seat she watched him eat, smiling at his obvious enjoyment.

"So, does it pass the Carson test? I know you love Italian food."

He wiped at his mouth as he chewed, "S'delicious."

She nodded, "It is," and picked up another slice. Her cheeks felt tight with the cold and she was already thinking of finding hot chocolate next. "So, what's been your best New Year's Eve?"

"My best… I'd struggle to pick one."

"You wild thing."

"I meant because they've hardly been memorable. I've had a fair few watching the fireworks on the BBC and then going to bed."

"Oh dear. Luckily for you my memories of New Year are pretty similar."

"I do recall a fair few raucous ones during my University days. Endless drinks and laughter and dancing."

"And girls?"

"Maybe. But I never got much farther than a dance and a drunken midnight fumble."

"Romantic."

"I try to be." He grinned, sitting back now his stomach was full and sated. "And you, raucous student days?"

"Hardly." She was wiping the sauce from her fingertips. "I didn't go to University in the same way, I was married, had Anna. I dropped her off at the nursery then went to attend my lectures, did my essays after she'd gone to bed." She shrugged. "Luckily the course was squashed into three day weeks, so I had time to do both that and be a housewife and mother. Now the teaching degree was the hard part."

His pride in her seemed to know no bounds, "How so?"

"Because I was on placement and basically working from 8 til 5 every day, then coming home and cooking and cleaning and putting Anna to bed and then starting my lesson plans and marking books and all that. Those placements must have thought me a real loner because I never joined them in the staff room or stopped to chat, I'd find a quiet corner and hide away working just so I had less to do at home."

"That's dedication though, I mean having all that, balancing all that." His own 'career' seemed pretty easily come by in comparison. "You must have been exhausted."

"On my knees. You finished?" He nodded and she closed up the box. "But it was my proudest moment, taking my daughter to watch me graduate."

"And your husband, friends, family, they must have been proud too."

"Only Anna came." She said gently, screwing up her napkin.

"Oh…" he felt intensely sad for her.

She shrugged, "My family was in Scotland and I didn't really communicate with them. I didn't really have time for any friends; I didn't meet Beryl until years later when I taught her son. And… Joe had to work… you can't just take the day off in farming."

He licked his lips, his mouth dry, "I guess not." He wanted to touch her, draw her body into his and hold her for a while; somehow hoping his presence would be enough to ease those painful memories.

He watched as she discarded the other pizza box and returned to him, pulling her gloves from her bag. The momentary gloomy demeanour gone as quickly as it arrived.

"So, I'm bloody freezing." She stated, "Shall we walk along the rest of the market? Try and fine some hot chocolate perhaps."

"Good idea." He got up first, holding his hand out for her, she took it, hooking her arm through his and leaning in closer to his body for the warmth. His coat was thick and smelt of books, which made her smile.

"You need a hat." She said, looking up at him.

"I'm fine."

"It's icy cold Charles, you need a hat to cover your ears. If I can look ridiculous in one then you can too."

"But you don't look ridiculous," he smiled, glancing down at her white, woolly hat pulled down over her ears, her hair framing her face. "You look kinda cute."

"Kinda cute, not fully cute?"

He chuckled, "I can assure you I'll _fully_ look an idiot."

"Let's see."

She dragged him across to a stall with a range of hats hanging up, and took a dark blue one from the table, stretching it between her fingers to check the size. "The label says extra large but I'm not sure…" Turning she stood on her tiptoes and reached up to stretch the hat on his head. "Bit tight." She laughed.

"Ha bloody ha, I look an idiot, as predicted." He pulled it off and she took it from him, laying it back on the table.

He stood back, hands in pockets, as she rifled through the pile of hats, selecting a dark grey one and checking the size again.

"Extra, _extra_ large," she stated, waggling her eyebrows at him.

"Don't be vulgar Mrs Hughes," he said, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

"There," she said happily, standing back to look at him, "that fits fine, it looks fine."

"I feel foolish."

"Nonsense. You look fine; it'll keep you warm. You'll need it when we're stood here at midnight watching fireworks."

"Can't we watch from the hotel window?"

"Don't be silly," she dug into her handbag and took out her purse, handing over a five-pound note to the vendor and waiting for her change.

"You didn't have to pay for it."

"Consider it a festive treat." She hooked her arm back through his again. "And you did pay for dinner."

"Nine pounds on pizza is hardly a proper dinner."

"Luckily for you I'm easily pleased." She laughed, and he hoped to God she was only talking about street pizza. "There, hot chocolate stall, I'm having a drop of Irish cream in mine if they have it." She said, leading him towards it.

"You have eyes like a hawk. You never miss a thing."

"I often know the gossip first at work. It's either that I'm nosey or people see me as trustworthy."

"The latter, I'm sure." He pulled his wallet out, "I can buy you a drink at least."

"Oh, go on then. If you have to be chivalrous."

They walked towards the castle cradling their drinks, Elsie's arm still holding onto his, she told herself it was for warmth but she felt calm with him, safe being by his side. And that was a feeling she didn't want, or dare, to explore any further.

"Shall we do the castle tomorrow then?" He asked, gazing up at it, floodlit and glowing like a beacon on the hill.

"Yes, let's." She finished her drink, "That was gorgeous." She turned to face him, her chest pressing against his, and covered her mouth as she yawned.

"Travel catching up with you?" He said, his smile warm.

"Hmm," she stood even closer whispering, "That or the sex."

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands looping against her back. "I felt rather invigorated by it."

Her eyes sparkled, "Did you indeed? Certainly it seemed to ease your back problems."

He was chuckling as he reached for her hand, turning them around, "We'll walk back then?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Did I hear a phone?" Charles asked as he came out of the bathroom, Elsie was sitting on the bed on top of the sheets, her legs tucked beneath her, glasses perched on her nose as she tapped away on her mobile.

"It was mine, Anna texting me to check I'd arrived okay?"

"Was she worried you wouldn't?"

"I think she was concerned you were going to chop me into pieces and sell me off a bit at a time. So I just told her you were using me for sex but not to worry as you'd been tested for STDs."

"Are you ever going to let that drop?"

"Not today." She ruffled his hair as she passed him to head into the bathroom.

"Then thank god it's almost over…" he glanced at the clock, "Hey it's 1:17, it's a new day."

"Unless we count it as twenty four hours since you made the revelation," she said, digging her toothbrush out of her bag.

"Lord above, and I can't get away. Maybe I could go sleep in the car…" he mumbled, plumping his pillow and sliding into bed.

"Sleep in the car? Isn't that rather rude?"

She exited the bathroom some minutes later, switching off the light. "Is that what you're sleeping in?"

"Isn't that rather rude?" He glanced down at his thick pyjamas – it was December in Scotland after all. "What are you sleeping in?"

She untied her robe, throwing it over the bottom of the bed and standing before him naked, "This."

"You're going to give me a bloody heart attack."

She shrugged, "If you're sleeping in the car my being naked won't affect you."

"Believe me – it'll affect me." He unbuttoned his pyjama top and threw it over her robe before holding a hand to her. "Better?"

"Getting there." She crawled across the bed to him, pressing a kiss to his mouth and then clambering over him to slip beneath the sheets. "Switch the lights off then Mr C, it's late and I'm tired. Had a very busy day driving."

He shook his head at her, turning off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness he lay down beside her.

"Mr C?" He finally questioned.

She smirked, "Shh, it's late." She turned onto her side, her back to him; he noted how she slept with her legs slightly curled up.

He turned onto his side behind her, staring at her bare back.

"Elsie?" He whispered, hardly making a sound.

"Hmm?"

"May I hold you?"

She let out a long breath, "Of course." He scooted up behind her, sliding one arm over her waist and smiling when her hand closed over his on her stomach. "You don't need to ask."

* * *

When Charles woke it was still dark, despite it being after nine. If they didn't get up soon they'd miss breakfast but as it was he was reluctant to get out of bed. He'd rather lie there with her, his eyes still closed, her warm and fragrant pressed against him, and then eat elsewhere and pay the extra cost.

Somehow in the night he'd ended up on his back with Elsie lying across him, one leg draped over his, her arm wrapped around his stomach, her head on his shoulder. Just the nearness of her seemed to awaken every fibre of his being.

He buried his nose in her hair, inhaled deeply, felt his chest tighten at the sensation as he filled himself with her. Charles Carson had never been this way before; sure there'd been women over the years, dates, the occasional extended period of dating, two awkward one night stands but never this… all of this. More than attraction, more than lust and desire, she seemed to reach him on every level. To him they were beyond dating now, this was a fully-fledged _relationship_. And he didn't use that word casually.

She moved against him and he pressed his mouth to her head, felt her leg shift, her thigh warm as he clung against his skin. Her head tipped backward on his shoulder, her hand flexing, arm sliding back as she woke.

Tilting his head down he sought her mouth with his, kissing her cheek, brushing her nose with his. His hands wandered down, her breasts filling his palms, that sweet weight, skin like silk through his fingertips.

"It's New Year's Eve…" He heard her whisper as she rolled onto her back.

"Mmm…" His mouth moved over where his fingertips had just travelled, his tongue swirling around her nipple.

He felt the breath escape her chest, "Last day of 2014." Her fingers slid into his hair as his mouth moved from one breast to the other.

"Been rather a good year," he mumbled against her skin.

She smiled, closing her eyes as he moved lower, understanding exactly his intentions – surprised by them perhaps but more than willing.

One of his hands rested on her stomach, stroking, tickling, the other between her legs. They were still relatively early in their sexual relationship, everything was new, exciting, undiscovered and both were still unsure of the other's boundaries. But judging from the delighted sounds escaping Elsie's mouth he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Anything at all.

Watching her come completely undone before him brought him as much pleasure as if it were his own orgasm. She held onto his hand, squeezing as she climaxed, gripping his fingers still as she came down from the high.

"Well…" she breathed heavily, her free hand reaching down and sliding into his hair, tugging on the thick strands.

"Well?" He asked, kissing her stomach, moving back up her body.

"Well, that was unexpected."

"Was it?" He folded his arms just below her breasts and rested his chin on his hands. "You mean because you were still half asleep or because it's me?"

She bit her cheek, twisting her mouth to one side, her eyes sparkling. "I'll just say that all the years I've been visiting your shop and chatting with you over a cashier's counter I'd never quite pictured you doing what you just did…"

He pouted, "I'm not going to tell you if I've pictured it."

Giggling she reached her hand down and stroked his shoulder, "You want the shower first or should I?"

"You go, then breakfast before the castle?"

"Sounds like a plan."

He rolled onto his back, allowing her to get up. She reached for her robe and stood, tying it around her waist and smirking at his relaxed posture.

"Don't fall back to sleep."

"Just resting my eyes."

She leant over him, kissing his smile. "Sure.

* * *

The morning was bitter so they did the interior of the castle after breakfast, wandering from section to section studiously following the guidebook and listening to the audio guide as they went.

They lost each other part way through and once she'd reached the end of a section Elsie took off her headphone and wandered back around searching for him.

She found him standing in the corner of a room pressing furiously at the buttons on his audio system. Shaking her head she made her way over, startling him as she rested her hand on his arm.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

He shrugged, "Can't hear you."

Chuckling she removed his headphones, "I said what's wrong."

"This thing keeps telling me the same thing over and over again, I want to know about this armour."

"Look," she took the device from him typing in the numbers beneath the armour. "Now try."

He slid the headphones back on and nodded giving her the thumbs up.

She caught his arm again, mouthing, "I'll wait outside." And left him to finish the tour.

It had warmed fractionally outside and no signs of snow. She remembered bitter winters on the farm as a child, wading through snow that came above her knees, walking the back lanes to school when the bus didn't arrive.

She'd worried how she'd feel being back in Scotland. Luckily Edinburgh held no special family memories but every now and then she'd hear the heavy accent, a deep timbre shaking her bones, and glance about as if searching for her father.

Closing her eyes she let the breeze ruffle her hair, whip past her face; she remembered how she'd felt that morning – waking with Charles, his adoration, his tenderness.

"I don't want something too heavy for lunch." He suddenly said by her ear causing her to jump.

"Oh, okay." She turned her head slightly as he stood close behind her wrapping up his headphones.

"Do we keep these?"

"There's a box inside for them."

"Ah," he kissed her cheek, "be lost without you."

She waited for him to return, scanned her phone for messages, only one from Beryl checking she was having a good time – she assured her she was.

"Ready then?"

"Ready." She said, popping her phone back into her bag. "We'll get a snack then, a drink and then finish here?"

"Sure."

"There's a little place that looked nice."

She turned in its direction, feeling his hand settle on her back as they made their way through the crowds. It was comforting.

"Just something light," he said, watching her work her way through the blackboard menu on the wall. "…If we're going out for dinner later."

"You said. What time did you book it for?"

"Eight. Figured that would give us long enough to eat and then have a couple of hours wandering around, soaking up the atmosphere."

He waggled his finger at the board, "What's this – clootie pudding?"

She slipped her glasses off as she turned to look at him, "Mmm, it's a bit like, like a Christmas pudding I suppose. You'll probably like it, it's traditional, hearty fare."

"I might have that. And a strong coffee, I need waking up."

"Okay. I'll go order, you want to try and find a table somewhere," she glanced around the small coffee shop, "anywhere that's free!"

She was quiet as they ate, distracted almost. He tried a couple of times to engage her in conversation but her answers were minimal. Deciding she just wanted a moment to herself he read through the guidebook he'd purchased, noting things he wanted to look at when they returned.

"What did you think?" She asked as he pushed his empty bowl away.

"Was good. Not quite Christmas pudding but still good." He closed his book. "You okay?"

She rested her chin on her folded hands, "Why? Do I not seem it?"

"You seem… a little quieter."

"I'm fine. Was just remembering some things…" she shrugged, "things you forget when you're away from home. I've been away from Scotland for so long I'd forgotten how it made me feel."

"Do you…" he'd never been very good at the emotional stuff. "I mean… do you want to talk about it? With me, I mean."

She smiled, reaching over to pat his hand. "No it's fine Charles. I'll be fine. Are you ready to brave the weather and wander the exterior?"

"Yes, when you are."

She finished her tea, "I'll just nip to the bathroom and meet you outside."

"Think I'll go too." She noticed his grimace as he got to his feet.

"Are you alright Mr Carson?"

"Just a twinge, bloody back still giving me trouble."

She rested her hand on his lower back, "You sure you don't want to go back to the hotel. It'll be a long day."

"No. Best for me to move around and not let it stiffen up. And I wouldn't miss tonight's celebrations for the world."

* * *

_Okay - part two won't be far behind. But in the mean time... please let me know what you think so far! xxx_


	40. Chapter 40

_And so, we can get back to their New Year 2014 trip. I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter so much, because I have adored writing this particular bit. I did away with the 39b bit because I can't deal with the numbers not matching on the scroll bar! (I know theoofoof will smile at that!)_

_Hopefully the end of this chapter should tie in with the start of EB and their feelings towards one another. Somebody so kindly pointed out my continuity error in the previous chapter (that was sooo nice after 40 chapters and 250+k words...) but do not fear that has been fixed!_

_As always thank you for the lovely reblogs and reviews. And I want to give a special shout out to **theoofoof** and **Chelsiesouloftheabbey** \- without whom I may have given up on this epic! x_

* * *

**Chapter 40 - ****_And then Elsie_**

**New Year's Eve 2014**

Elsie had debated what to wear the entire time she showered. Trousers would be the logical option – they'd be outdoors for the majority of the night and it would be very, _very_ cold. But then it was New Year's Eve and they were going out and she wanted to dress up and flirt with him and have fun.

She couldn't lie to herself, she'd always found him easy to talk to and perhaps over the years she had flirted with him too. There was no denying his attraction to her, and he was such an upright, serious type (though over the past couple of months she'd noticed that particular trait changing) that whenever their conversations had ventured into anything vaguely resembling flirtation he'd slipped into the realms of nervous wreck.

Maybe it had been dangerous to encourage him but somehow, within all the misery in her life, it had been nice to feel there was somebody who just liked her. That was it. Simple.

As she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel and glanced in the mirror her decision was made - she opted for a dress. A dark green dress (wool, of course) and her shiny, patent boots (and thick, black tights).

She was singing as she laid out her clothes and stood in front of the mirror applying her make-up, listening to Charles in the shower. When she saw her reflection, the smile on her face, the rose in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, it surprised her. It had been quite a while since she'd looked at herself and noted anything other than dark circles, worry lines.

Dare she even think it – she felt happy. And something behind that, that slightly overwhelming pulsing of adrenaline you got when you were on a rollercoaster or during take-off. Anxiety and excitement and an element of the unknown.

An element of relying on somebody else.

Was she even ready for that?

Did she even _want_ that?

Charles whistled as he entered the bedroom, stopping and pausing to take in her appearance, "Now that's what you should wear." He said appreciatively noting the black negligee.

"Under my dress, to keep me warm," she waved her mascara at him. "As you very well know."

"I like your hair like this too," he said moving behind her, his eager hands sliding over her stomach, his chin on her shoulder. "All untamed."

"It's still wet."

"Hmm," he kissed the side of her neck and she watched them in the mirror, how affectionate he was with her, how gentle.

"We best get ready or we'll miss our table." She said, breaking to mood.

"You're right, and as good as that pudding was my stomach's been rumbling for ages now."

She turned round and patted his tummy, "Well then, quicker you get dressed, quicker we can go out and party."

"Good Lord, _party_, me?" He flopped down on the edge of the bed reaching for his socks; "We both know I'll be dressed and ready before you even get your jewellery on."

"Ah well, you see already halfway there – earrings on." She boasted, moving her hair to show him.

"Race you then."

"Race me?"

He stood in front of her, "We both have our underwear on. First one to get dressed."

"Most couples race to get _undressed_ you know."

"That comes later…" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Promise, promises. Alright," she placed her hands on her hips, mirroring his posture. "Though dressed means clothes, not jewellery or shoes or finished hair."

"Right."

"Right. And let's make a bet of it, loser buys the drinks."

He nodded, his body poised, hand in mid-air ready to go.

"3. 2…" she smirked. "You do realise I have tights to get on."

"A-ha, I have a tie."

She smiled, her fingers already curling into her palm as she eyed where her tights lay on the bed, "…1!"

She made a dash for them, throwing his tie over the other side of the bed as she did so.

"Bloody cheat."

"You didn't say anything in the rules about hindrance."

He grabbed her waist, hampering her ability to pull her tights on as he reached for his shirt, stretching across to where it hung on the wardrobe door.

"Stop it, Charles, this is unfair." She had one leg in and was toppling forward.

"No rules about hindrance Mrs Hughes."

"I'll damn well give you hindrance," she slapped his arm away, getting loose and sitting on the side of the bed so she could get her other foot in, then standing as she inched them up her thighs. "Some bastard of a man designed these I'm sure."

"They look kinda sexy when you pull on the bottom half, then past the knee it just looks difficult." He'd fastened up his shirt and was slipping his trousers from their hanger.

Elsie moved past him, unhooking her dress and pulling it over her head, she wiggled it down, fussed with where the waist hung and then shouted, "Done!" at the exact same moment he did.

He looked at her sheepishly, his shirt hanging out and incorrectly fastened.

"You bloody well are not done! Look at you – no tie, no belt," she flipped her hand over the front of his shirt, "Not even done up correctly."

"God you're picky." He kissed her nose, "Got you dressed quickly though."

"Ha ha. I win, you get the first round of drinks."

"I can manage that. Think you can do your hair whilst I get my tie on?"

"Of course – I'm a fast worker you know."

* * *

They walked hand-in-hand to the restaurant, the streets were alive and heady with celebrations and they couldn't help but be swept up in it.

Charles could feel the giddiness radiating from her and it was pleasing to see her so caught up in having fun; over the five months they'd been dating that light, fun side of her showed up every now and then but then seemed to close in on itself. Over the past couple of days that side of her had been the one present, with little signs of being pushed away or deliberately subdued.

"Now I'd like this steak and Stilton pie, and chips, _not_ fries…" Charles said as he held the menu in front of him, eyeing the waitress over the top of his glasses.

Elsie hid her smirk behind her menu, crossing her ankles and forcing herself not to laugh. He was unintentionally amusing to her, even after five months of dating she was still adjusting to his manner, and he to hers she supposed. Where he was often quiet she was loud, where he was reserved she could be extrovert, where he came across as rigid and set in his ways she was more than open to change.

"And for yourself ma'am?" The waitress enquired.

"Oh, for me," she closed her menu, smiling up at the girl. "I rather like the sound of this Indian platter thing you've got on the special board."

"An excellent choice ma'am."

"It sounds delicious."

"And to drink?"

"Can we have some water for the table?" Elsie asked.

"And wine, number 47 sounds good, Elsie?"

She nodded, folding her hands beneath her chin. "You choose, I'm sure it will be wonderful."

The waitress moved away and Charles refocused his attention on Elsie, finding her regarding him with an amused expression.

"What? Was I rude?"

She gave a slight shake of her head, "No, not really. Just… very English."

He straightened his shoulders, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I embarrassed you?"

"No, of course not." She smiled warmly.

"I just don't like how we're starting to alter our language to fit in with the rest of the world – chips are chips, they should stay that way."

"And so they should." She chuckled.

"Sorry. Proving myself worthy of my stick-in-the-mud status."

"Dance with me later tonight and you'll shake off the label." She held her hand out across the table to him.

Chuckling, he reached across and shook it. "Deal." He flipped her hand over, "You know this is the first time I've noticed your nails."

"Ah I had them done specially see," she waggled her fingers at him, the light catching the flecks of gold glitter. "Sparkly."

"Beautiful." He kissed the back of the hand as the waitress returned with their wine and she pulled back, feeling slightly embarrassed, though she had no idea why.

"Should I pour Sir?" The girl asked politely.

"No that's fine, we can manage, you seem rushed off your feet." He said, redeeming his earlier stuffiness.

She gave him a grateful smile, "We are. Thank you."

Charles took the wine from her and poured. There was a candle on the table which Elsie had pushed to one side and they were situated by a window, on the smallest table imaginable for two.

"That was very nice of you."

"Haven't you heard, I am nice?"

"Clearly." She glanced to where his feet lay by the side of her chair. "How are your legs doing, folded up as you are?"

He handed her glass across, "I may have to get up every twenty minutes and stretch them."

"Oh dear," she smiled, "it's what comes of being so big."

He coughed on his wine, covering his mouth with a napkin.

She laughed loudly, "How very presumptuous of you Mr Carson!"

"I didn't…" he rolled his eyes, "I see your new goal in life is to tease me mercilessly."

"Well, if you will jump to conclusions." She sipped her wine, "Reminds me of my daughter's nickname for you."

"What?" He chuckled, open-mouthed (he'd never even met her, how could she have a nickname for him?). "What do you mean?"

Elsie blushed; she hadn't meant to reveal that. "It's not… well, it's a nickname for me actually, she's teasing me, not you."

"I wonder who she gets that from."

She bit on her lip, suppressing her smile, toying with the stem of her wine glass. "One day she just came out with this idea that there was an Elsie BC –,"

"As in?" He interrupted.

"Before Charles." She admitted.

He smiled broadly; perhaps her daughter had witnessed a positive change.

"And then of course we have Elsie AC. _After Charles_. Makes me sound like a bloody battery."

He leant back in his chair, a little proud of himself, he'd never been known to have any kind of overwhelmingly, notable positive influence on a woman. And this woman… this one he'd admired and (to be honest) lusted after for so many years.

"Your daughter must be very perceptive."

"Hmm, that or intensely irritating. You see whenever she calls me, and we talk every other night, she'd always start by asking what mood I'm in – because if work is stressful then I have a tendency to be so too."

"Understandably."

"Yes well, now, because I'm 'dating' – which she finds most amusing – she simply starts by asking if I'm BC or AC."

"Why does she find it amusing?" He asked, holding back his smug grin.

"Because she never thought I would." She folded her arms, leaning her elbows on the table to close the gap a little between them. "Only thing is Beryl overhead this little 'nickname' one Sunday lunch in the pub and she rather thought BC stood for _Big Charles_."

Now he did laugh, a full-on throaty belly laugh.

"No need to look so pleased with yourself."

"Oh believe, from where I'm sitting there's every reason." He watched as she sat back and sipped her wine, the candlelight on her face, the way she scanned the room taking in the goings-on. "I'd like to meet her you know, your daughter."

She glanced at him, a flash of something he couldn't name in her eyes, "She's not often home these days, especially with it being her final year."

"Perhaps when her exams are over."

She nodded, "I can't bear to think about it – final exams. I think I'm more nervous than she is."

"But you're very proud, I can tell, you always speak of her so…" he waved his hand, searching for the words.

"You mean I always talk about her, you can say it! I've been known to." She shrugged. "She's my pride and joy, there were times she's been my only reason to get up in the morning."

He knew that feeling. He wanted to ask her why, what happened with Joe, why they'd divorced after such a long marriage. But at that moment in time it didn't matter, he could only thank whatever Gods had given him this opportunity.

"So, why teaching?" He asked, eager to break the silence, to keep her engaged.

She seemed caught off guard by the topic change and leant back, "Erm, I'm not sure… haven't we discussed this before?"

"Don't think so."

"Maybe I'm just used to people asking."

"I shall try to be more interesting."

"I didn't mean that…" she smiled, feeling his leg brush hers as he shifted in his seat. "Aching?"

"Twinge in my lower back."

"You want to swap seats?"

He shook his head, he was positioned with his chair against a wall, he could stretch his legs right out by the side of Elsie's chair, if they swapped he'd be even more cramped.

"Maybe we should have brought your cushion!"

"Makes me feel like an old man," he complained, rubbing his back.

"The cushion! I bought that especially for you."

"No, this, my back."

"I don't think the miniature table and chairs help."

"I was told this was a decent place, great food."

"I suspect it will be but it's New Year's Eve and very busy so they're squashing folks in."

"True."

"What about you?"

"Sorry?"

"The book shop, was that what you wanted to do?"

"God no, when I was seven I wanted to be a clown."

She giggled, resting her chin on her hands and scrutinising his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Imagining the make-up."

"My face was a tad smaller then and I looked darn cute in the make-up."

"Of that I have no doubt."

"I learnt to juggle, spin plates, put on little shows for my mother."

"That sounds very sweet, what made you give it up?"

"I realised I'd have to live in a caravan and constantly travel." He shrugged. "I like my bed to be stationary."

"Well, that sounds very sensible for a seven year old."

"I always was."

There was a lull in their conversation as their food arrived and Charles refilled their wine glasses.

"So, after your ideas of being in the circus faded, what next?" She watched as he ground salt and pepper onto his food, the way he took a long drink of water before he started to eat. He seemed happy enough with the chips/fries, she thought wryly.

"Well, of course I went the normal route of space, figured I'd be an astronaut. My mother had dreams of my becoming a Doctor. For a while, in my teens, I worked at one of those old, grand houses. You know the type, open to the public now and there's a gift shop and restaurant attached, a farm shop. I was there from about sixteen to nineteen and I did think about just sticking there but Violet would've killed me."

"What did you do at University?"

"Business. Couldn't think what to do. Would've liked to have done History but no idea what to do with it and of course mother had moved on from medicine and settled on me inheriting the business."

"As good as any career though, must be nice to be your own boss. I often wish I worked for myself, less people to please or be accountable to."

"That's the positive. The downside is nobody to carry the burden neither. Perhaps if I'd had a wife and children it would have been different but as it is…"

She lifted her wine glass, sipping the liquid as she watched him. He'd always struck her as a very lonely man, someone in need of getting laid is what Beryl would have said (well, she'd more than taken care of that particular problem), but there was more there. A deep-set loneliness, one nurtured over many, _many_ years until it was almost his friend, his companion.

She deliberately moved her leg, her foot rubbing his ankle affectionately. He glanced up at her, "No good?"

"Sorry?"

"The food?"

"Oh, no, it's quite lovely actually." She picked her fork up again; clearly he thought the physical contact little more than a misplaced foot, how unusual it was for him to receive any. "You know I read that people who eat spicy food every couple of days are less likely to suffer from illnesses such as arthritis, Alzheimer's, that kind of thing."

"Really?"

"A-ha, something to do with the chillies."

"I always thought these tribes that exist without western intervention have a way of surviving illnesses because of what they eat, their lifestyle, you know."

"I do. I agree."

"I've had this little dream since I was a kid of owning a farm, I don't want to actually run a farm you understand. But to look out your window and see nothing but fields – bliss." He put his knife and fork together, satisfied. "But I forget, you grew up on a farm."

"I did."

"And was it bliss?"

She swallowed, reaching for her wine and taking a gulp. "I wouldn't choose that word, no. Hard work. Cold, a lot of the time. It can be quite isolating."

"I guess so." He felt he'd touched a nerve; her demeanour had altered just slightly. He filled their glasses for a third time. "You see you can tell I read too much, I'm a fantasist, I believe in the pastoral idyll."

"That's a nice place to inhabit, the real world can be rather a kick in the balls in comparison."

"Ouch. That was rather blunt."

"Sorry," she pushed her empty plate to one side. "I mean…"

"I'm joking, you don't have to apologise, I know what you meant. And I wholeheartedly agree. Do you want to have dessert?"

"I noticed on the menu they have those sharing ones."

"So you want to share?" he scanned the room for the Specials Board. "That'll be nice."

"Anything with chocolate in I'm thinking."

"What about that giant, fishbowl of a sundae that couple have over there?" He indicated with his chin where they sat.

She twisted her neck to look, "Oh yes, that looks fabulously over-the-top. Though I may be sick when we dance later."

He sat back, folding his arms, "I'd almost forgotten about the dancing."

"Don't worry. I won't let you."

* * *

23:45, and a moment of stillness amidst the wonderful madness of the night. They stood embraced by the crowd, the darkness cut by the flash of phones and lighters as they waved in unison and Sam Smith's voice cut through the cold air.

Elsie closed her eyes for a moment to take in the atmosphere. It may have been icy cold but she hardly noticed anymore – though that was probably down to the fair amount of alcohol they'd consumed as the night had passed. A bottle of wine in the restaurant then Brandy with coffee following dessert. Then they'd wandered through the market, tasting and trying various liquors as they'd gone. They'd just purchased mulled wine and drank it as they found a space in the crowd to watch the fireworks.

She felt Charles' hands tentatively press against her hips so she leant back, giving him permission, and his arms slid around her, hands looping over her stomach, his chin on her head.

_'Can I lay by your side? Next to you. And make sure you're alright? I'll take care of you. I don't want to be here if I can't be with you tonight.'_

"Nice song," he whispered by her ear, then kissed her cheek, "nice moment."

She nodded her agreement, it was more than nice, it was perfect.

She felt him sway their bodies slightly, finding the beat in the slow song.

"Does this count as dancing?" He whispered again, his breath hot against the shell of her ear.

"You're not getting out of it that easily," she tapped her fingers against his hands. "I want one of those glow stick things the kids have got."

He lifted his head from her shoulder, eyeing other attendees, some with children, some in gangs, some old, some young. They were a good fifteen metres or so from the main stage and before them lay a sea of dancing golden and silver lights – and glow sticks, fluorescent in yellow, pink and green.

Again he scanned the area, there was a cart a little way to the right, light up sticks, headbands, plastic sparkler things – it all looked like cheap rubbish to him but if she wanted one he'd get it for her. He loosened his arms from her waist.

"Where are you going?" She asked, twisting her neck.

"To go get one of these… glowy things."

Her mouth twisted into an amused smile, "Oh Charles, you don't have to."

"Do you want one?"

She bit her lip endearingly, "Yes." She admitted shyly.

"Then you shall have one. Here," he handed her their shopping bags, purchases from the street markets, "Hold these whilst I venture forth."

"Be quick."

"Don't lose our spot." He winked and disappeared into the crowd; she wondered how he'd find her again.

She felt her phone buzz in her coat pocket and dug around for it.

_'Happy New Year Mummy! Getting in first ;-) Hope you're having a fabulous time babe! Definitely Elsie AC I'm thinking! X'_

Clearly her daughter was drunk. She hastily typed a reply, _'Happy New Year to you too darling. Here's to 2015 being a great year for you. Love you! xxx'_

She slipped her phone away, glancing up to the front and the countdown clock; she twisted her neck around, standing on her tiptoes to search for Charles. A young man carrying two beers in plastic cups bumped into her side as he passed, mumbling a hasty, "Sorry," as he went on.

When she'd righted herself again she'd lost sight of the cart he'd headed towards, there were three, almost identical, quite close together.

The phone in her pocket rang and she hastily dug her hand down and gripped it.

"Hello?"

"Can you wave for me?"

She raised one arm and did so, "I'm tiny, you'll never see me."

"Wave something."

She dug into their shopping bags and pulled out a book he'd purchased earlier in the evening and waved it in the air. "I feel a total tool doing this." She complained. But then she spotted him, waving back and heading towards her. She put both the book and her phone away.

"So, I wasn't sure which could you'd prefer so I bought all three." He said breathless.

"Oh goodness, you're an angel." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much. I'll pay you, they must have been expensive."

"It's no bother," his breathing had slowed to deep pants now.

"Here, have one."

He raised his eyebrows, "Really? Me?"

"Yes, you. Come on," she foisted the green one into his hand, then swapped it for the yellow one, deciding green and pink together would look better for her. "Wave it come midnight."

"I'm drunk but not quite drunk enough."

She kissed him, "Oh but you will be before we go back to the hotel." She waved the glow sticks at him. "Yay, countdown time."

"You're positively crazy."

"I am indeed."

She turned away again, bouncing on her heels to see and shouting along with the rest of the huge crowd as they all counted down to the New Year chimes. When the clock struck he reached for her, turning her back to face him.

"Happy New Year Elspeth."

"Nobody ever calls me that." She was about to protest but his mouth covered hers and for the first couple of minutes of 2015 she was lost in kissing him.

"Happy New Year to you too," she said when they paused.

"_Yay_!" He teased, the word having a considerable lack of energy as he said it and simultaneously waved the glow stick.

She smiled, shaking her head, and then they were moved by the crowd, crossing arms and joining in Auld Lang Syne – he thought of the rest of the country celebrating, the rest of the world, and realised there was nowhere he'd rather be at that precise moment, glow sticks and all.

* * *

Charles had never been a dancer. He wasn't ashamed to admit it. Being the centre of attention meant to him absolute disaster and humiliation. As a young man he'd been able to participate – alcohol and the possibility of some girl liking him key reasons for such a venture. As the years had gone on he'd decided just to abandon the whole thing.

_But then Elsie._

That night in the pub when he'd watched her walk to the bar in a tight skirt and heels and the thought of holding her body close to his had been fuel enough to get him on his feet and swaying with her. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was no kind of dancer but he also wasn't ashamed to admit that hormones (young or old) had also played a major part in most of his dancing activities.

Tonight it was easy to get caught up in the exuberance of it all. Everywhere was so busy, so loud, that there was no chance of talking or enjoying a quiet drink. But it also meant he didn't fear he'd make a fool of himself and all and sundry would be watching. On the contrary he'd witnessed quite a few people with even worse co-ordination than himself.

_And Elsie_.

Beautiful. Intoxicating Elsie. All curves and softness and fragrance and that smile and her body against his. It was heaven, he kept thinking that, he realised – what a cliché he'd become, and at his age too when he should know better.

Of course she was a better mover than he (of course) and he let her guide him. Her back was against his chest and her bottom was rolling around in places it wasn't safe to! He closed his eyes, his hands on her hips, breathing her in, glad the place was dark.

"You need to stop that." He whispered hotly by her ear.

Her mouth twisted into a smile and in seconds she spun round, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Why?" She mouthed, then stood on her tiptoes to whisper by his ear in return, "Don't you like it?"

"I like it a bit too much."

They were both drunk, he knew that, but drunk enough to make fools of themselves on a dance floor at two in the morning? Possibly never.

She caught hold of his hands in hers, "Let's go." She said above the noise.

Grateful he followed her, pausing by their table to collect their things – coats, bags, hats – and then out into the bitter January air. He thought of Mrs Dalloway – the air like the flap of a wave against his face. _The kiss of a wave._

Beside him Elsie tucked both of her arms around his.

"Put on your coat, it's freezing."

"Yes sir." Her voice was hoarse from singing, her ears ringing, and she had that slightly naughty, dirty feeling about her that she used to get as a teenager when she snuck out with friends to clubs.

They walked in silence back to their hotel, watching the revellers, avoiding the drunken arguments and those collapsed on the sidewalk. Despite what Charles might like to believe life, unfortunately, wasn't a fantasy.

Elsie found their key card and let them into the hotel room, there was lamp on by the bed but the room was dusky and warm. She shed her coat, turned to watch as Charles hung the 'do not disturb' sign and then locked the door. Before he had chance to move too far into the room her mouth was on his, her hands forceful on his chest as she pushed him back against the wall.

His head was spinning – a heady combination of rich food, alcohol, fireworks, excitement and lust. His erection was almost instant and she was unbuckling his belt before he had chance to think straight. The things she did to him. The things she made him feel. He wanted nothing more than to give her pleasure, as much as he longed for that very thing himself.

A distant part of his mind wondered if he could even manage it in this state, but then her hand was inside his boxers, cool against his heat, and any thoughts of failure disappeared. His own eager hands reached down beneath her dress, hastily pushing down her underwear, the damned tights causing him an issue.

Giggling, she stepped back slightly, and he watched as she took them off herself then moved back into his embrace, pushing his coat to the floor. She was so petite compared to him, five foot something and every inch seducing him.

Desire took over and he lifted her, turned until she was back against the wall, her legs eagerly curling around him. He'd never done this, he couldn't remember ever doing this, and his mind raced as he tried to figure out the machinations of how it would work. If he was strong enough to carry it off. But she seemed more prepared than him, easing his trousers aside, pushing up the skirt of her dress.

"Wait…" he panted against her mouth, "we need to just get a…"

"Don't." Her tongue was in his mouth and he couldn't ever recall feeling this turned on, he wanted to crawl beneath her skin.

"Oh god," he grunted as their bodies joined. There was no pace setting, no build up, this was pure lust and he went with it, despite what years of trying to date and make love to women had taught him about the female orgasm. Elsie seemed as far gone as he though; he could feel her tight, hot, her moans unbidden in the back of her throat. A continuous hum of 'yes' and his name mingled together – how he loved to hear his name on her lips in this way, that she wanted him, desired him – there was no better aphrodisiac.

She climaxed first, just, her legs tight around his waist, her nails against his shoulders, digging through his shirt.

"Ohhh god!" he groaned, losing control, "god, god, god. Elsie." He sought her mouth, kissed her frantically and then she was laughing and he found he was too. "Elsie."

"Yes…" she smiled, stroking his face.

"You're just…"

"Yes?"

He could hardly breathe. He shook his head, astounded by what had just occurred – against the wall in a hotel room.

"Perhaps I should have a nickname, Charles AE. Because lord knows I've never done _that _before you."

"CAE. For short." She loosened the grip of her thighs, dropped her feet down until he lowered her, his moans indicating his disappointment at the loss of touch.

"Let's open one of those bottles we bought tonight and toast 2015."

"That was a hell of a start to it," he said, leaning back against the wall and breathlessly watching as she crossed the room towards the bathroom, a distinctive sway to her hips as she went, the ease with which she lifted her dress over her head and threw it to the bed.

* * *

Later, they sat on cushions on the floor in front of the window in the darkness, sipping the whisky Charles had purchased and watching as the celebrations continued. Fireworks across the city, music and parties.

"What are your thoughts on sex?" She asked, swirling the liquid in the bottom of her glass.

He coughed on the spirit. "What?"

"What are your thoughts on it?"

"I think it's great, obviously," he grinned foolishly, like a boy seeing a naked woman in a biology lesson. "Why?"

She turned her head, resting her arms on the windowsill and her head on top of them as she looked at him. "I mean, what does it mean, sex, control, pleasure? All interchangeable."

His brow furrowed, "Did I hurt you?"

"No of course not."

"Then I don't understand what you mean."

She closed her eyes, "It's okay. Neither do I. Forget I said anything." she turned her face back to the window, back to the view. She was drunk and tired and, she suspected, almost incoherent.

He copied her position, stretching his legs out and pulling the blanket they'd stolen from the bed closer around them.

"I think sex should be part of a relationship, it isn't always, but it should be – in my opinion. I think you need to trust your partner and you need to want to pleasure them. I don't think it's about control, but maybe I'm just not into that type of thing." He grinned and she looked at him again, his hopeful expression.

"I wish everyone thought like you." She said gently, leaning forward to kiss him. "What time is it?"

He glanced over her head to the clock, "Almost four." He stroked her hair, attempted to reassure and soothe whatever unknown fears she had just by being there.

"Take me to bed. I'm so tired."

She slept almost immediately, curled up against him, her head on his chest. For Charles it took a while longer, there was something about her, something he couldn't quite grasp – she felt almost elusive at times, no matter how hard he tried. In fact the harder he tried the more elusive the thing seemed to become.

Everything was so good, so right, almost easy between them. But still, there was something there, something niggling. And he was quite sure he never wanted there to be _Post Elsie_ – he wanted this to last.

* * *

The irritation of background noise dragged Elsie from a deep sleep. Her mouth felt like something had died in there and every limb ached.

Her eyes flickered open and for many minutes she lay staring at the crack of windowpane she could see. A slight slither of light came through the side of the curtain where it didn't quite meet, she stared at that gap as her mind slowly awoke.

Groaning she lifted her head slightly, felt a sharp stabbing pain shoot through her brain, her neck cramp as she moved. She was on the edge of the bed, her head half on a scrunched up pillow. She twisted to the right, forced her body to move and flop over. As she lifted an arm to steady herself her elbow crashed into a rather large object.

Glancing up she realised Charles was pressed tight against her, his arm heavy over her waist but her movements hadn't woken him. She'd leave him like that, a deep sleep is just what he needed if his head was anything like hers.

Lifting his arm she slid out, wobbling as she stood and leaning back against the wall. She rubbed her eyes, smiled when she saw the state of the room, and the fact they had this huge bed and had slept right on the edge of it, squashed up on one side.

Stumbling to the bathroom she rinsed her face in cold water before digging about in her make-up bag for aspirin. She swallowed two, used the loo then dressed in there. Jeans and a jumper. It was after eleven, breakfast was long over and she needed something to take off the nausea.

Finding her boots and coat she finished dressing. Pulled her hat over her messy hair and slung her bag over her shoulder.

* * *

Charles was awoken by the cold cloth being placed on his forehead. Mumbling his annoyance he attempted to open his eyes then blinked and groaned in pain.

"Am I dead?"

He heard Elsie chuckle, "No, just hung over. I suspect for the first time in many years."

"Why are you waking me?"

"I fetched coffee and food."

He opened his eyes at that. "What time is it?"

"Almost quarter to twelve. You want to try sitting up."

He did as she asked, grateful for her plumping pillows behind him. "I ache from head to toe."

"I know. Me too." She pushed a glass of water into his hands and tablets.

"You're dressed."

"I told you I fetched provisions."

He dutifully took the painkillers, watched as she undressed and climbed back into bed with him in just her underwear, and eyed the Starbucks bag on the side.

"What have I got?"

"Coffee, how you like it, just a splash of milk, you need to add sugar." She tore open the bag, "Croissants."

"New Year's Day and I'm in this state."

"Along with most of the country." She bit into her croissant. "The smell of it was bringing on a swell of nausea but she needed something in her stomach." She glanced across at him, smiled at his closed eyes and pained expression. "You know this is like a milestone in our relationship." She said.

"Waking up hungover together?"

"Yeah, we either potter along nicely together feeling like crap or kill each other."

"I'm happy with pottering."

"Mmm," she took a sip of her coffee, grateful for the hot liquid. "And I think I need more sleep."

"I'm so glad you said that." He stretched his arm out and she settled down against him, closing her eyes and sighing. "I don't know how you managed the walk for coffee." He said, resting his chin on her head.

"Sheer will. Oh wait," she sat up again, removing her bra, "I can't sleep in this."

She threw it aside and settled down against him again, exhaustion immediately taking over, she let it invade her body, closed her eyes and fell thankfully into sleep.

* * *

When Charles woke again it was to the sound of rain, heavy and insistent upon the window pane. For a long time he laid listening to it, lulled by its steady rhythm. He was lying on his side facing the window, Elsie behind him, her arm hanging over his side as she pressed up against him.

He ran his hand over hers, enjoying the shape of her fingers in his, the texture of her skin, the fact she was holding him for a change. Five months of being with her seemed so much after so very many years carrying a torch. And yet it was so little, they were still in the early stages of getting to know each other. He still found her sense of humour surprising at times, a little too edgy for him. But then perhaps she found him too conservative at times, too rigid in his old-fashioned beliefs.

He smiled as she murmured in her sleep - she was still with him though, and presently things appeared to be going from strength to strength.

Lifting her hand away he rolled forward and out of the bed, his head shaking as he moved but in no way aching as it did earlier in the day. He needed to shower, God knows what he looked like, and then he'd wake her, maybe suggest a walk - he could do with some fresh air.

When he emerged from the shower he felt considerably better, much fresher...and able to face himself in the mirror. He was just setting himself up to shave when Elsie knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

"Are you done? I really need to pee."

Chuckling he dropped his razor back to the sink, of course she did.

"Ooh, you look better." She said, rushing past him. "I'll have a very quick shower too." She swung the door closed after her.

"Can I finish shaving first?" He asked, leaning against the wall by the door.

"Why don't you do it as I shower?" She opened the door again, "Unless of course you're nervous of me watching you do it."

His mouth twisted into a smile, "Not at all."

"Good. Where are you taking me for dinner, I'm starving?"

He followed her back into the bathroom, how could she be starving? He still felt like at any moment the meagre contents of his stomach would escape.

"Erm, you choose." He said, doing his best to ignore her naked in he shower behind him.

When she opened the door and reached for the towel he nipped his chin, "Ow! Damn it!"

"Oh dear, you okay?" She wrapped the towel around her and moved to look at the cut, pushing his fingers aside. "It's just a small cut," she assured him dabbing it with a cloth. "Still handsome." She smiled brightly.

She'd piled her hair up on top of her head but the ends were still damp, he found it endearing.

"What?"

He shrugged, "Not often I get called handsome."

Smiling again she leant forward and kissed his cheek, "Oh but you are. Now I'm going to get dressed, then can I have the mirror to do my make-up?"

He nodded, staring after her, at the damp footprints she left on the bathroom floor. "Sure."

* * *

They ate at a small pub, simple but delicious pub fare - sandwiches and a shared bowl of chips and lots of water, no alcohol!

The mood was somewhat flat compared to the previous nights hilarity so they left as soon as they'd finished, not even having coffee, and instead walked for a while through the city.

"You know it's about minus 10 degrees." He said shivering in his coat, the collar turned up against the wind.

"Oh it is not." She hooked her arm through his, "It's about 2 degrees, exaggeration." She rolled her eyes. "At least it's stopped raining."

"But it's damp and cold."

"Are you feeling sorry for yourself Mr Carson?"

"Yes." And she was sure he pouted.

"Well that I didn't expect. The man who made me walk along a cliff edge in October half term."

"The weather was fine that day."

"It was Autumn in Whitby, it wasn't fine."

He stopped their walk, turning to face her, "You said you enjoyed that weekend."

She smiled lightly, he was so insecure at times, worse than a woman. "I did Charles, very much."

"Mmm good, because I thought it quite lovely."

"It was wonderful." She leant forward to kiss him and his demeanour immediately softened.

"I'll never know how I managed to keep my hands off you all weekend."

She giggled, pleased with the newly returned mischief in his eyes, "You didn't, you held my hand, remember."

"So I did, how very brave of me."

She laughed again, "You want to go back to the room then?"

"Of course I bloody well do, I'm freezing and I ache from head-to-toe."

* * *

They were lying side-by-side, mirrored postures, one arm supporting their heads on the pillows, sheets pushed down to their waists.

"Feeling better?" She asked.

"Much. The fog is finally clearing." He smiled, reaching forward to brush her hair back from her face. "And you?"

"Yes. Though I don't think I'll be drinking again in a hurry."

"Me neither. Good fun though," his face had almost a childish, impish grin on it. "Wasn't it?"

"It was. Definitely a highlight as New Year's Eve go."

"Definitely."

He was still touching her she noticed, his fingers had trailed down to her bare shoulder and his thumb was lightly stroking her in small circles. She recalled their earlier ventures into 'touch', their first kiss, the times they'd snuggled on her couch – or his – where hands had wandered, testing the limits, learning the other.

The internal battles she'd waged with herself over how far she was ready to with him. Testing her own boundaries.

But then he was no Joe, there'd been no guilt, no recriminations if she suddenly put a halt on things. And in time she'd felt comfortable enough to let it happen – as clumsy as that first time had been.

"You're smiling." He stated, doing that exact thing himself.

"Am I?"

"You are, what are you thinking about?"

She bit down on her lip, he watched as she rolled it between her front teeth, how it flushed white then rosy pink again. "Our first time…" She admitted.

His cheeks reddened, "Oh don't, I was disastrous."

"Hardly." She smiled. "Just nervous, perhaps?"

"Terrified." He admitted.

"I'm so glad I provoke such feelings in you." She laughed.

"No, you know…" He blustered, "You know what I mean." He noted the glint in her eyes, she was amused by him. He huffed, "I'm not used to discussing such things, being open about these things."

"Working with teenagers kinda makes you open to discussing most things without blushing."

"You think it'd loosen me up?"

"Oh I don't know," she shifted her face the few inches closer to his, nudging his nose with hers. "You seem pretty 'loose' at the moment."

"I'm not sure how I should interpret that…" But she cut him off with her lips on his, teasing him into a deep kiss. Her hand slid over his side, heavy against his back, holding him to her.

When they parted he felt breathless, he couldn't remember ever having that feeling before, not even with Isobel.

Smiling she returned to her earlier posture, tucking her arm back beneath her head to support herself. Internally shaking his head Charles did the same; she already had such a hold over him, he wondered if she realised just how deeply he was falling for her.

"What were you like at school?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper in the dark, still room.

"Mischievous. Too smart for my own good." He shrugged, "I worked hard I guess, as I got older and it got more important. But I was more interested in being on the field with a cricket bat in my hand."

"Did your father get you into cricket?"

"No, my er… my father wasn't around. He left my mother when I was young,I didn't see much of him after that, he was in Ireland, remarried. He sent cards, Christmases, Birthdays, you know the kind."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. You didn't know."

"Do you talk to him now, keep in contact I mean?"

He swallowed, kept his eyes fixed on hers, "He died. Years ago now. So no, we didn't really rebuild any kind of relationship. I tell myself I never got a chance to." He shrugged again, "Who knows."

"I'm sorry for that too."

He nodded, reaching a free hand across to tiptoe down her arm, his eyes drawn to her cleavage, the fair skin adorned with freckles, "And your family, your parents. Did you get on with your father?"

She surprised him by rolling forward, pressing her mouth hard against his and kissing him deeply, her tongue teasing his. He was moaning almost instantly, especially when she rolled on top of him, her thighs parting around him as she straddled him.

Her movements were so sudden they caught him off guard. But as they kissed the moment slowed again, into something like a dream, relying on nothing but senses – the sounds she made, the feel of her body against his, the brush of a hand, the taste of her mouth.

She giggled at his hand at the base of her back and he mentally noted it as a ticklish spot. And then they both groaned as his erection brushed her pubic bone and he felt her lips smile against his.

She started to move, rising above him, his hands slid down to her hips, eyes searching in the dim light, eager to see every bit of her. The sweetness of her pressing on him, her hips moving ever so slightly, drawing him into her a millimetre at a time.

He could quite easily dissolve into a quivering mess. She seemed almost ethereal in the dusky light, her hands coming forward to fold with his, and he wondered – very faintly and for the first time – if this was what love felt like.

Reaching down to grasp her waist again he shuffled backward, his pillows bunching behind him, until he was half sat, enough to give him strength for movement.

Closing her eyes and leaning her head back Elsie drifted away as his mouth moved over her neck, his fingertips gentle up and down her spine. Like this it was so easy to just let things happen, natural. It had been so very long since she'd felt worshipped like this, like he made her feel, years, a lifetime.

His hands slid beneath her bottom, lifting her until her legs were curled around him and his strong arms were supporting her.

They moved together, finding the right angle, a knock of elbows and her knees pressing into his pillows until they were settled and comfortable. And then that delicious first moment where one body welcomes the other and everything fits as perfectly as its meant to.

Charles had always preferred the term 'making love' over the rudimentary 'sex' or the vulgar terms young people seemed to use. But it was the first time he could recall feeling as if the word completely fit his actions. And it was one of the only times he'd wanted his orgasm to remain a distant destination, because getting there with her was so blissful he didn't want it to end.

It occurred to her, as she lay in his arms later – his breath against her neck, his heartbeat against her back – that Charles was only the third person she'd ever slept with. And yet it was the first time she'd ever known tenderness. And that thought scared her.

* * *

As Charles eased back in his seat and rolled his neck he caught sight of Elsie asleep in the seat next to him. They'd left Edinburgh only an hour ago but clearly the trip was already catching up with her.

Another hour and he'd stop at the services and they could get a snack and use the restroom.

They'd hardly spoken that morning as they'd packed and showered and dressed and paid their bill at the hotel. Not really talked, not like they had been. In fact the farther they drove away from the city the more he felt his serious side returning. Thoughts of opening the shop and removing his Christmas promotions and putting away the decorations.

As he slowed for road works he glanced at Elsie again, she rolled her head from facing the window to facing him, he worried her neck would ache when she woke. Realisation that he wouldn't see her every day struck him. He wouldn't wake with her snuggled up beside him. And it was quite the revelation to him to find how much he'd miss that. Now, after spending days with her, he wasn't sure he was content to go back to a date once a week, if he was lucky a Saturday night sleepover.

Twenty odd miles later she woke, stretching and groaning as she tried to sit up.

"Hello sleepy." He said, his eyes on the road.

"Hi." Her tongue swirled around the inside of her dry mouth and she reached into the glove compartment for a bottle of water. "Did I miss much?"

"Not really." Though he didn't admit her being asleep meant he could listen to Radio 3 on a low volume.

She held the water to him and he took a quick drink.

"Couple of amusing number plates and a child who thrust a teddy bear against the window of the car to wave at me when we stopped in traffic."

She smiled, "What kind of teddy bear?"

"Some yellow thing, massive eyes."

"They're called Minions."

"What are? Is that a nickname for rascal children?"

She laughed, "No Charles, but that sounds good doesn't it." She took another drink. "They're…well, characters I suppose."

"Of course I never watch children's television."

"They're from a film, Despicable Me, I had to watch it just before we broke up – snow morning and the buses were struggling to get in so we had students arriving in dribs and drabs, took until after 11 before we really got going."

"Seems silly to even bother."

"Exactly what I thought." She sighed, "Are we stopping soon?"

"Ten minutes or so."

"Good, I'm in need of a cup of tea."

"And a slice of cake?"

"I suppose we could share one, gonna have to get back into the normal routine now the holiday is over, which means not having dessert every day."

"That's bleak."

"Very bleak."

She settled her arm against the door, one hand supporting her chin as she watched field after field slip by. Acres of dull green, winter trees waiting for spring.

"So, what would you like to do next?"

"Sorry? You mean after the tea break? I don't mind driving for a while."

"No I meant next as in together, you know…" He pursed his lips together, why did he suddenly feel so awkward about it? "Our next date?"

She smiled, "Dating seems an odd term doesn't it?"

He let out a tight breath, "Yes. Especially considering the past few days. I'm not sure what else to call it."

"There's a film I want to see." She said finally, still looking at the view. "If you fancy the cinema one weekend."

"Saturday?" He said hopefully.

"It's Saturday tomorrow."

"Yes." He felt his stomach churn. 'I want to be near you,' is what he longed to say but instead he waited patiently for her response.

"I have to… Do things…" She turned slightly to face him, feeling clumsy as she spoke.

"Oh."

"I mean like tidy my house, prepare for work on Monday, see Beryl. I'm not sure if Anna is home neither."

"It's alright," he said, though feeling it was decidedly not alright.

"We could meet Sunday afternoon if you like, go out for coffee somewhere, final piece of cake before the January diet."

He brightened a little at the cheery tone in her voice. "That sounds good."

She noticed how quickly his demeanour altered, shoulders more relaxed than they were only seconds ago. Folding her arms she turned events over in her mind.

Days ago she'd been pacing her flat waiting for his arrival, memories of Joe clouding her mind. Was it only days ago? Everything seemed to have shifted now. She hadn't thought of Joe or being divorced and alone and a failure since he'd popped her travel bag into the boot of the car. Now those familiar doubts resurfaced. Things she felt Charles probably needed to know but she didn't know how to broach them. The way she suspected Charles felt for her now… in ways it filled her with joy, hope, yet there was that slither of fear running through her core. Doubt. Regret. Seclusion. Maybe it was easier to be alone. Maybe Charles was getting too close.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was her own fault, and she'd been guilty of the same too. Allowing herself to fall so easily into the role of partner, is that was she was? A girlfriend? And now what – where did they go from here?

The thought of a man having a hold over her again made her heart jolt.

She'd take a step back. It would be easy, returning to work and the rush of the next few crucial months of school as exams neared. And seeing him casually again, just as they had prior to this break. Once a week. Dinner. The movies or theatre or a Sunday walk. She didn't want to hurt him, of course not, he was so very lovely and more than that… She glanced at him… More than that, she didn't want to end it. She couldn't imagine not seeing him.

Perhaps she just needed to get used to this, move at a slower pace and in time the memories of her past would dissipate and then she could just see where she was with Charles. In time.

* * *

_Well, back to present day next time and 2016! **Please** let me know what you thought of their trip and the extended flashback. I know I said only 10 chapters left a while ago but I've rather changed my mind, and the direction that the story is going to go... xxx_


	41. Chapter 41

**_Most of this chapter is set in the present – New Year's Eve 2015 and then January 2016. The flashbacks take place in January 2015, immediately following their trip to Edinburgh._**

**_This chapter sets up the third story arc._**

* * *

**Late December 2015**

"Charles!" Elsie yelled as she raced down the stairs, clutching her phone in her hand. "Charles?!"

He hummed his reply, "Yes?" from the kitchen, never shifting his position. He was bent forward, leaning over the table, or – more importantly – leaning over the wine he was decanting. On the table before him lay an open book, '_Wine, all you need to know'_, a Christmas gift from Elsie.

"Honey," she complained as she searched the rooms for him. She stopped by the kitchen door, shaking her head as she watched him. "Goodness Charles, you could at least answer me."

"I did," he said lowly, "but I didn't want to raise my voice."

"Surely the book doesn't tell you shouting is bad for the wine."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"How many bottles have you been through now?"

"I want to get it right." He gently tilted the bottle upright, catching the drop that circled the rim in a piece of kitchen towel. "So, what are you yelling about?"

"They just called," she said waving her phone. "They would have called earlier but, well what with it being Christmas and being busy and away from home and all –,"

"–what are you rabbiting on about?"

"The Johnsons from the next farm along."

She sighed at his furrowed brow.

"The cat?" She prompted.

"Ahh, the pregnant cat. Yes, what of it?"

"It had kittens."

"I told you it was pregnant." He said, marking the page in his book and gently closing it.

"I think you'll find I told _you_ it was pregnant but that's by the by. It's had it's kittens, five of them."

"So?"

"So…" she smiled, sauntering towards the table.

"Oh no Els, I thought we were over that."

"Just because I haven't mentioned it doesn't mean I'm 'over it.' Let's go see them."

"We're going to the cinema, you said you were desperate to see _The Lady in the Van_." He stated as he took a seat.

"I am and we will, but we have time to do both. We can call at the farm on our way into town. Barbara said that's fine."

"Who's Barbara?"

"Goodness Charles, Barbara Johnson, the farm, the cat, the kittens." She pouted. "I want to go see them."

"They're a week old at best, they'll look like mice."

"Please." She rested both hands on the table across from him. "Please, please, please."

He huffed, "You're like a child."

"I'll do anything you like - get you the biggest popcorn, take you out for dinner afterward to your favourite place," she reached to stroke his hand that lay on the table. "Even do that thing you like tonight…"

"Now that's unfair."

"I'm just saying."

"It's bribery and you're far too sneaky." He sighed heavily, "You have four seconds to convince me to have these kittens."

"Four seconds! I can't even get your belt buckle unhooked in that time!"

He shook his head, "Disgraceful. Time's up."

"Wait no, start the four seconds again."

He glanced at his watch, "Okay, go…"

"Abstinence!" She shot back.

His eyes widened, "Sorry?"

"No kittens, no sex."

"Elsie…" He rolled his eyes.

"Your choice." She folded her arms.

"Okay I can do that. I went years without remember."

"Fair enough, we'll see who gives in first." She deliberately leant forward across the table reaching for his tea cup, allowing him a good glimpse of her cleavage.

"That's cheating."

"Is it?" She got up, taking their cups to the sink, knowing his eyes were on her backside as she swayed her hips.

"Blackmail."

"You said convince you," she turned to lean against the sink. "And I really, _really_ want those kittens."

"Lord above, I'm destined to live my life ruled by women."

She clapped her hands together, moving quickly to slide her fingers over his broad shoulders and slip onto his knee. "You wouldn't have it any other way." She went to kiss him, looping her hands at the back of his neck.

He held his hand up, "Wait, I'm saying we can go _look_, not _get."_

"Alright." But she knew she'd won this particular battle as she pressed her lips against his and kissed him deeply.

He moaned in frustration into her mouth, pulling back only fractionally to whisper, "And no, I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Less than fifteen minutes later Charles was pulling the car into a rather muddy back yard whilst an excitable Elsie practically jumped out and slipped around the front of the bonnet.

"Come here," he said, reaching for her arm, "it's icy and muddy."

"They're going to be so cute. Little babies." She squealed.

"Don't get over excited and gush over them."

"I shall try to suppress my joy," she deadpanned at him, then turned to kiss his cheek, "Be nice."

"I'm always nice…."

"They are our closest neighbours."

"I'm gonna have to dig the hosepipe out of the garage and clean the car when we get home tonight, it's caked in mud underneath now." He said, eyeing it as she rang the bell.

"Oh Charles…"

The door opened to reveal a ruddy faced yet slight woman, she wore an apron, upon which she was wiping her hands, and had that well-worn look of somebody who spent a great deal of time outdoors in all weathers.

"Mrs Johnson?" Elsie enquired.

"Mrs Carson?"

Charles smiled proudly.

"Well, not quite yet but in a few months." She held out her hand. "Elsie Hughes. And this is my fiancé Charles Carson."

"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." He said shaking her hand and Elsie rolled her eyes at his formality.

"Come in, it's bloody freezing out here." Barbara said, beckoning them in. "So you're settling in here okay?"

"Oh yes, it's lovely." Charles said glancing about the farmhouse.

"It's taking some getting used," Elsie commented. "Being so remote."

"I know, it can be odd. You're more than welcome to pop down anytime you know," Barbara pushed open the lounge door. "Luckily my husband's taken the children out for a while, out from under my feet. So you can look in peace. There's five of them, you're thinking of getting two?"

"Well we…" Charles blustered.

"We are." Elsie said, squeezing his elbow as she passed him and looking imploringly at him.

He sighed, her eyes were deep blue and inviting and he realised she had him completely wrapped around her little finger.

"We are." He repeated, standing inside the lounge door. He stood back and watched as Elsie's voice turned soft and embracing. She knelt by the basket, the cat lifted its head and sniffed the air and, once content, settled back down, her babies snuggled along her stomach.

"They're so tiny." She cooed. "Look how tiny they are Charles."

"I can see."

"You could fit two in the palm of your hand. In fact no, you could fit all five."

He chuckled despite himself, watching as she lifted a hand, she couldn't help but touch, and she gently ran one finger down the tiny leg of one of the sleeping kittens.

"As soft as cotton wool." She smiled.

"You want some tea?" Barbara asked.

"We're going to the cinema." Charles whispered, almost afraid of waking the kittens.

"Yes of course." Elsie said, pushing herself to her feet.

She turned to Charles as Barbara left them alone and twisted her hands together.

"Darling, they're so beautiful."

He could swear her face was actually shining.

"They are cute." He admitted.

Her mouth twisted into a smile, "Not like mice?"

"No. Not like mice." He pointed at them, "But I draw the line at two, we can't have five!"

She giggled, "Alright. I think we should get the grey and white one and the ginger and white one."

"Ruthless."

"You said I had to choose," she implored, reaching to grip his arms. "Is that okay with you?"

He dipped his head down to hers, "Whatever makes you happy, you know that." And placed a kiss to her forehead.

"We might be able to take them home come Valentine's Day."

"Quite the gift!" He smirked, aware of Barbara returning with their tea he mentally prepared himself to make small talk.

* * *

**New Year's Eve 2015**

Charles watched mesmerised as Elsie stood before their bedroom mirror in just her underwear, holding up one dress after the other in front of herself.

"What do you think?"

"I told you I like the red one."

She picked up the red dress from the bed and hung it in front of her again.

"You don't think it's a bit flashy for the cricket club's party?"

"Erm, have you met these women?"

"Unfortunately yes." She sighed, "It's not something I'd usually wear, Anna talked me into buying it." She put it down again, turning to face him, "Maybe I should just take it back."

"Don't do that, you look gorgeous in it."

She smiled, tilting her head to one side as she regarded his slumped and relaxed position in their bed. "You'd say that if I wore jeans and a shapeless jumper."

"I know what's underneath." He smiled, grateful of the lacy black underwear. He held his arms up, "come here for a minute or two."

"A minute _or two_…" She drawled knowingly, crawling up the bed to him and settling in his arms. With her head on his chest she eyed the dresses hung on the wardrobe door. "Maybe I should just wear the black one and blend in."

"Never," he kissed her shoulder. "You're not a woman who's meant to just blend in."

"You're biased."

She felt him lift one of her arms, one of his hands folding with hers, his other trailing down her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at your freckles."

"Charles…" she twisted her head to look at him.

"I intend to do a close study of Ms Elsie Hughes, every inch of her."

"Starting with my arms?"

"Indeed."

She chuckled, "It's finally happened then, you've finally fallen off the edge and lost it."

Smiling he lifted her hand to his face and kissed the back of it before turning it over, studying the lines in her palm, the shapes they formed – how much joy these hands had brought him – his thumb rubbed over the pulse point at her wrist and he kissed there too.

"You do realise that this time last year I was I falling in love with you in Edinburgh, if I hadn't already and just not admitted it to myself." He said softly.

"This time last year I was telling myself _not_ to fall for you and failing miserably."

"So cutting me off instead?"

"Hmm…" She rolled over until she was nestled between his legs, her chest on his. "And look how well that turned out."

"I feel entirely cut off and poorly treated."

"As well you might."

"And soon I'll be relegated to second place in line for your attention in this house, overtaken by two feline fur balls."

"Don't be mean about my babies. I promise to pay you attention every other week." She teased, trailing kisses over his chest, feeling his hand curl into her hair, the other on her back, his fingers fiddling with her bra clasp. "Not sure if we have time for this." She said against his neck.

"Well, look at it this way, when we get home we might be too drunk to manage it."

She chuckled, her kisses moving up his neck, "Do you remember our drunken fumble against the hotel wall last year?"

"I remember it as often as twice a week. And it was more than a fumble."

She nipped his chin with her teeth, "I'm shocked. And you such a good boy."

"I keep telling you you've changed me. Wicked woman." She was going to protest but he quickly rolled her onto her back, leaning over her, she was giggling at his touch.

"Definitely wear the red dress," he smiled, feeling her warm thighs press tightly against his legs.

* * *

The fireworks at the cricket club were right enough but as Charles stood watching them he could only reflect on how small they seemed in comparison to the previous year's celebration. He felt that, if he closed his eyes, he could take himself back to that exact moment – how it felt to have her in his arms, his chin on her head, the fragrance of her hair, her gloved hands covering his against her stomach. Kissing her to the New Year chimes.

They must go back there next year as a married couple.

He felt her touch his arm, sliding her hand under the crook of his elbow and leaning against him. She tilted her chin up to him as if to speak and he lowered his head to hear her over the din.

"Promise me we'll spend every New Year together." She smiled, her eyes bright in the darkness.

He felt his heart sweep with joy, still, like this was still new and fresh and exciting. How could she do that to him?

Placing a kiss on her forehead he smiled, "I think I can promise that."

"Where's my glow stick to wave?" She laughed.

"Those bloody glowy things."

In a wave of emotion and tenderness for this wonderful man she turned to face him, lifting her head up, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. His arms curled around her, one hand still clutching his champagne.

"You're missing the fireworks." He said against her lips.

"Oh but we're giving your wonderful cricket club members a different kind of show, aren't we?!"

He chuckled, pressing her even tighter against him. It was slightly warmer in Yorkshire than Edinburgh but still bloody freezing. "I do love you Elspeth Hughes."

"I should damn well hope so," she stood even higher to whisper by his ear. "Because the things I'm going to do to you later…"

He swallowed, feeling his trousers tighten almost immediately around his groin.

She laughed, lowering her feet to the slightly muddy ground – she was glad Charles had suggested to bring spare boots for the outdoor section of the night – her Uggs may look a state beneath her fancy dress but they were a whole lot more comfortable than heels.

"Remember that first time you invited me to the cricket and we had that awkward kiss in the car park?" She giggled watching his face.

He nodded, "I was just so happy you were there I wouldn't have cared."

"It's 2016 Mr Carson."

"Who would have thought I'd live this long!"

"Charles," she squeezed his upper arm. "Don't say that." But they were both laughing. "I'm rather looking forward to this year."

"You know I can't think why…" He kissed her head again, "Grandma Elsie hey."

"Oh goodness don't say that, I can't be a grandma, can't the child call me something else?"

"When the child does indeed start to talk maybe I'll consider letting it use Els… But only if it's nice to me."

"You know it's going to adore you, great big Grandad who can swing him or her around at high speed and hoist them onto his shoulders."

"That's quite some vantage point they'd have."

"A view of the entire world!"

"You know, I honestly don't mind being called grandad, I rather like the idea."

Smiling she kissed him again, "How late do we have to stay?"

"Another half an hour, another drink then sneak away?"

She nodded, turning from his arms as the fireworks came to an end. Time to mingle again.

* * *

Of course Laura was holding court – of course – it was at times like this Elsie wished she still smoked, then she could at least escape outside for five minutes instead of having to listen to that woman's stories.

She'd worn the red dress. Only to find Laura had worn red too, only hers was racier, and tighter and sexier and Elsie felt decidedly low-key in comparison. Almost dowdy. Especially as wearing such a tight dress meant she'd opted for the scarily large stomach-holding-in pants which did very little for her sexual confidence right at that moment.

She glanced down to her breasts and mentally compared them to Laura's – which were of course fake – but they were sturdy and large and didn't bob about during her animated chat. Men were so easily swayed. She'd proven that particular fact the other day when convincing Charles about the kittens.

Her attention was drawn to the right as she noticed a suave young man walking towards her smiling and brandishing two rather large cocktails.

"Now, now Mrs Hughes. You look far too deep in thought for New Year's Eve."

"Hello Thomas," she smiled, leaning to kiss his cheek.

"Here. Have a _cheeky screw_."

"God I hope that's the name of the cocktail otherwise Charles will be heartbroken when we run off together."

"You're looking fabulous tonight, you might just turn me."

"You mean you're not mesemerised by the glorious Laura like every other man here?"

"You know I thought I noticed a look of the daggers about you as you stared at her."

"Hmm…" she mumbled into her drink.

Thomas laughed, "Come on, I love a good bitch."

"Oh really! You must love her then!"

Thomas gasped, covering his mouth in mock shock and shaking his head. "Mrs Hughes!"

She grasped his arm giggling, "God don't tell anyone I said that. I'm sure most of them here already see me as low class."

He rolled his eyes, "They have different views on what makes class. All about the money honey."

"Exactly. And the connections. So whilst I can talk properly…" she exaggerated her upper class accent, "…when required, the truth is I was born into a working class family. I may just about pass for low middle class now but I'm sure many of these think Charles is settling below his station."

"I think your class is the last thing on his mind."

"That's because he's a sweetheart." She turnd her back on Laura, facing Thomas instead.

"And because he can't get enough of you." Thomas added before sucking on the straw in his cocktail.

"Well yes, there's that too." She touched his arm. "Wouldn't they find that even more working class – 'sex'?" She mouthed.

"You're kidding me! These lot are at it like rabbits, trust me. Unlike you I was born into this."

She recalled Charles telling her that Thomas' father was a top lawyer, his great, great grandfather a judge. She'd wondered how he'd escaped the family business.

"The amount of sex parties, wife swapping, husband swapping, having it away with the nanny – the stories I could tell would make your hair curl."

"Of that I have no doubt."

"Problem is Els…" she smiled at his use of Charles' nickname. "Not many of them are happy. Most drink too much."

"Present company excluded." She smiled, waggling the cocktail at him.

"But of course. So, you looking forward to the delights of married life?"

"I am rather… though I must admit we haven't really had the time to think about it. What with Anna and the baby, and Charles leaving the shop now… another thing I'm sure this lot are adding onto my list of 'golddigger qualities.'" She rolled her eyes. "I haven't even started looking at dresses."

"Oh fabulous," he grabbed her hand. "Let's go together, we'll be like those two in Sex and the City – you'll be Charlotte and I'll be her gay best friend advising her on wedding dresses."

"You know I remember that episode – her husband sees her in the dress."

"I knew you'd be a fan. We should have a 'City' marathon."

"Charles would detest the show, they talk about things he'd die listening to."

"Like…" he leant in whispering by her ear, "bad tasting _come_."

They sniggered together like naughty school children.

"That was a disgusting moment." She giggled.

"A brutally honest moment, you and I both know that's truth babe. Samantha Jones is a star." He finished his drink and took her glass from her. "Come on, let's liven this place up. We're going to dance, I'll request a song from the DJ."

She took his hand following him to the dance floor. "What are you going to request?"

"Kanye West, Golddigger, of course, you sassy bitch!"

* * *

"So, you and Thomas looked like you were having fun." Charles smiled as he looked over to the their bed, Elsie was curled on her side already half asleep.

She didn't even open her eyes, "He's a bad influence on me, I had three cheeky screws with him."

Charles rolled his eyes, "Dear Lord I hope that's one of those disgusting coloured drinks I saw people with."

"A-ha."

He peeled back the bed sheets and climbed in beside her, "Good. Otherwise Thomas and I might have fallen out."

"I like him. He makes me feel like I might fit in there."

Curling up behind her he kissed her shoulder, "You _do_ fit in there."

"Marginally. They're such snobs."

He rested his hand on her stomach, hoping that this was partly the alcohol talking.

"Am I?"

Breathing deeply Elsie opened her eyes a little, realising what she'd said. "No I…" she turned in his arms, her head beside his on the pillow. "Sorry, I'm venting."

"I know you don't like Laura, I know she can be loud and likes attention."

"Maybe I'm a little jealous of her. She seems to have my personality but she's lived her life enjoying that extrovert side and I've surpressed it."

He smiled tenderly, stroking his finger down her nose, "She doesn't have your personality. Not even a hundredth of it." He sighed, "We'll go somewhere else next year."

"No. It's what you do, I'm happy to go. I'll get used to them I'm sure and if Thomas is there I'll be fine."

"The way he was grinding against you on that dancefloor I thought he'd swapped sides."

"We were having a Sex and the City moment." She smiled.

"This is one of those things I don't understand, isn't it." He shook his head. "Besides I thought we could go back to Edinburgh as husband and wife."

"Oh now that would be nice, very sweet." She kissed his mouth before resting her head on his chest, how easily he fell onto his back to accommodate her movements and curled his arms around her.

"And your birthday coming up… anything in particular you'd like to do?"

She huffed against his skin, "Forget I'm 52."

* * *

**Wednesday 6th****January 2016 – present day**

January meant Elsie's birthday. An event not usually steeped in much excitement and celebration because one – she was back at work, and two – the rest of the world was miserable following the fun of Christmas.

The previous year she'd been in a state of confusion over what to do about Charles; the year before that she felt decidedly alone – her first birthday as a divorced woman and her fiftieth to boot. Before that she'd been living life in a bubble of day-to-day tasks to take her mind off of her bloody awful situation.

This year she wanted a simple celebration, dinner somewhere nice so nobody had to cook or clean up or worry about the state of their house. Charles booked the Thai place she liked and Anna, John, Beryl and Bill would be there and that was fine with her. Her birthday was Wednesday and they'd go out Friday to really celebrate.

That meant Charles had the wonderful honour of spoiling her on the actual day. When she got in from work he'd run a bubble bath and poured her a chilled glass of champagne which he greeted her at the door with.

"You're not singing!" She laughed as she walked in, swinging her school bag to the floor.

He rolled his eyes but launched into song, she took the glass from him sipping it as she listened to him.

"Yay!" She clapped, "that was wonderful.."

"I best get the same treatment come my day."

"It's my birthday, only I can make demands."

He drew her into a hug, "You have a good day?"

"It's work," she shrugged, "better being at home."

"Your bath's getting cold."

"I have a bath?"

"You do. Thought you can submerge in that and relax as I prepare dinner."

"Oh?" She pouted. "You're not joining me in the tub?"

He smirked, "Well, I suppose I could _force_ myself. You know if I have to."

She drained her champagne, handing the glass to him, "Race you up there."

He shook his head as he watched her run up, "I'm not sure grandmas are meant to behave in this way."

"Don't call me that!" She called back.

By the time he'd refilled their champagne glasses, checked on the casserole in the slow cooker and made his way upstairs she was already soaking in the bath, her hair pinned on top of her head and her eyes closed.

"Happy there are you?"

"A-ha," she smiled, "Happy Birthday to me…" She sang, cracking open an eye and splashing him as he undressed.

"Minx!"

"Ah, you can't be mean to me on _my_ birthday." She said, wagging her finger at him.

"Wouldn't dream of it dear."

Giggling she slid forward in the bath, "Front or back?" She asked.

"Now that's not a question I get everyday, unfortunately. Quite a risqué question too." He said, kicking his pants off the end of his foot.

She had her chin resting on her knees as she watched him, "Mmm, but what's your answer?"

"Back, of course, so I can worship you with care and attention, love."

"Come on then, because I'm growing older by the second."

He gingerly stepped in behind her, lowering himself into the water with a grateful groan. Once settled she scooted back up against him, settling back against his chest.

"And you don't look any older," he whispered kissing her shoulder and up her neck.

She closed her eyes, relaxing, "Yes. You keep telling me things like that."

He smiled, lifting her head forward and shifting to kiss her other shoulder. He reached for the sponge on the side of the tub and submerged it in the water, squeezing out its contents over her breasts.

"You know, times like these it's good I'm so much shorter than you," she reflected, "we fit just perfectly here."

"With our extra large tub that cost a fortune and we've used what – three times since we moved in?"

"Worth every penny," she replied, wiggling against him.

"God yes." He reflected as a tingle of pleasure ran through him. "Remind me of that next time I complain about money."

They lay in silence for a long time, the only sounds of their breathing and Charles continually bathing her in the warm, soapy water.

He watched as she lifted a foot out, resting her heel on the edge of the tub.

"You're quite beautiful," he whispered by her ear, his open adoration a joy to hear. "And quite wonderful." He kissed the shell of her ear. "And I'm very deeply in love with you."

Sighing she stretched against him, "Can you say this every year?"

"Without fail."

Twisting her neck she reached a hand up to his chin, tugging him down for a kiss.

"You think the water's getting cold?" She asked, eyes twinkling.

"Seems okay, you getting cold?"

She nodded, pouting, "I think I need to go to bed for a while…"

His eyes widened, "Oh, I can see quite obviously that you do now."

Giggling she sat forward, sliding against the surface of the bath as she moved. Charles hoisted himself out, draped a towel around his middle and reached his hand down to help her up.

* * *

For the next two hours Charles questioned whether it was actually his birthday. Their bedroom appeared to have become a place of worship and pleasure and his ears were filled with delighted sighs and wanting pleas.

"Do you think at some point you should open your presents?" He asked gently, his head on her stomach, mouth kissing her skin.

He could feel her hands in his hair toying with the thick, short strands of grey. He worried he was turning white – he didn't want that, made him look (and feel) old.

"I suppose I should, shouldn't I, and call Anna."

"I did hear the phone ring twice."

"Did you? I didn't."

"You were rather otherwise engaged with your own delightful moans."

She chuckled, pulling a little too hard on one strand of hair as she blushed, "Well, I happen to rather like how you make me moan."

"Oh believe me, I have a certain fondness for it too." He peppered her stomach with kisses before folding his arms on it and looking up at her. "That bloody casserole is going to be overdone."

"It's a slow cooker, what's the worse that can happen?"

"I guess. Do you want to get up, go eat, open gifts. I do have gifts for you, you know."

"Plural?"

He nodded, "And do you know how difficult it is to buy for a woman's birthday this close to Christmas?"

"You said that last year. You haven't bought me any more walking socks have you?" She teased.

He rolled his eyes, "I'm learning from that mistake, give me time, couple of years you'll get everything you've ever wanted."

He pushed himself up off of the bed and she watched as he put on loose jogging bottoms and a t-shirt.

"I think I already have it."

"Have what?"

"All I ever wanted."

* * *

**January 2015 – One year earlier**

They were laughing as they pulled up outside of her apartment, Elsie fiddling with the present on her knee.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, "I'm mortified. It's a terrible gift."

"Oh I don't know, someone bought me tea towels one birthday."

"Well, at least I'm in good company."

He pulled the car up to the kerb and turned off the engine.

"So," she said, slipping off her seatbelt and turning to look at him.

"So."

"I thoroughly enjoyed my evening Charles, thank you for taking me out."

"You're welcome. And your socks?"

"And my socks. Of course." She laughed again, waggling the package and easing open the car door. Charles got out, coming round to walk with her.

"You didn't have to do that." She assured him.

"No but I'm a gent and I'd like to walk you to your door."

She bit down on her lip, turning to face him by the porch, if she stood on it she was tall enough to look him directly in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I can't invite you in…"

He shrugged, "I know, it's a work night, it's already late… I know."

She leant forward and kissed his cheek, "Perhaps at the weekend…"

He nodded, "Oh and er the socks were a joke by the way." He reached into his pocket taking out an envelope. "Happy Birthday Elsie."

Open mouthed she tucked the socks under one arm and slid her thumb under the opening of the envelope, "Theatre tickets?"

"You said you'd wanted to see that for a while, I thought we could go, but don't feel you have to take me… Take Beryl, Anna, whoever…"

She was smiling as she looked up at him, "Of course I'll take you." She shuffled through the tickets. "There's hotel vouchers in here too."

"The show's in London, you can't see it then travel back, not for an evening performance. So, I figured hotel vouchers and there's train vouchers in there too."

She gasped, "Charles. That's far too generous."

"I wanted to get you a good gift. I looked up this iPad thing you got me for Christmas, I know how much they are."

"Yes but Christmas deals and such…" She shook her head. "I'm very grateful for these. Thank you." She tucked the tickets into her handbag. "We'll pick a date, go together for a weekend perhaps."

"I'd like that."

She tilted her head to regard him, this kind, _kind_ man.

"So would I." Truth be told she'd missed him over the past couple of weeks, missed how they'd been in Edinburgh.

Leaning forward she rested her hands heavily on his shoulders and instantly his hands were on her waist, pulling her body flush against his as their mouths met.

Before he knew what was happening he'd joined her on the porch and she was pressed back against the wall, their tongues meeting in a rush of heat so abstract in the freezing January air.

Breathing deeply he reluctantly broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "I best go." He whispered.

"Alright."

"Can I see you Saturday night? Are you free?"

She sighed, her nose nudging his, "Beryl and Bill are taking me out for my birthday. I'm not sure what time we'll be back." She saw the disappointment in his eyes. "If it's not too late should I call, or would you rather wait until next weekend?"

It was Tuesday night, he could barely imagine waiting until Saturday let alone another week without her.

"Come over, whatever time, wake me if you need to."

"Charles." She laughed.

"I mean it."

"That's a booty call."

His brow furrowed, "I have no idea what that is."

She thought as much. "It's when…" She smiled, "I'll explain on Saturday shall I…?"

Nodding he kissed her once more then dragged his body from hers and quickly got into his car before he lost the will and went back for more – he felt like a teenage boy dropping his girlfriend off home, hormones raging after making out.

As she watched Charles drive off, smiling to herself at how nice the evening had been, at the generous gift he'd given her – still chuckling over the walking socks – she felt incredibly guilty for sending him on his way. But it was almost eleven and she _did_ have work.

And besides that she was still trying to keep some distance between them. To give herself some breathing space to work through things in her own mind.

When she turned to type the code in for her apartment building she heard a car door open behind her, for some reason her stomach lurched at that fact – how had she not noticed someone was there?

She pushed hard on the door and almost fell inside. Standing in the dimly lit foyer she glanced around and felt like a fool for panicking as a young man crossed over the street to another apartment building.

"Idiot." She muttered under her breath and turned to check her mail box. A few cards, a leaflet and a small box wrapped in gold paper. Smiling she carried the clutch of items up to her flat.

Pouring herself a large whisky she sank onto her sofa, emptying out the contents of her handbag and sorting through them. Phone. Purse. Perfume. Presents. The envelope from Charles, the jokey socks that made her smile over dinner, and the gift in gold paper. There was no tag and she was intrigued.

Draining the whisky she tore open the wrapper of the small, flat box, eased off the lid and inside lay a silver key ring encrusted with diamantées – a pair of handcuffs.

Frowning she lifted the tiny card from out of the lid, "_Happy Birthday Ellie x_."

Throwing the box across the room she yelled in frustration, trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. How had he gotten into her building?

* * *

Charles was making himself a pot of tea and talking with Richard on the phone when Elsie's call came in – he put Richard on hold to answer her.

"Hi, are you okay?"

"Did I interrupt a call? I'm sorry I didn't mean to…"

"I was talking with Richard, are you okay?" He asked again, it was very late now, he thought she'd be asleep.

"I was just…" She was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I scared myself," she lied, "I heard a noise in the apartment and scared myself." She tried to laugh, "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Don't be. Don't be. Do you want me to come over?"

"No, don't be silly, it's fine, I was foolish to call so late."

"You're sure it's just a noise?"

"Yes. Just a noise. I'm fine."

"Okay. Well I'll see you Saturday then."

"A-ha." She closed her eyes, visualising him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Elsie, you call if you need me…for anything."

She breathed deeply, surprising herself with the sudden threat of tears. "Thank you Charles."

The line momentarily went dead before Charles heard Richard again.

"Everything alright?"

"It was Elsie."

"The _elusive_ Elsie." Richard chuckled. "I thought you'd been out with her tonight."

"Yeah we had dinner for her birthday."

"Is she okay?"

"Seems to be," he sank into his chair, cradling a cup of tea in one hand and the receiver in the other. "Said she heard a noise in the apartment. But she seems okay, just shook up."

"Can I ask something?"

Charles closed his eyes, he knew exactly what his friend was going to say. "If you must."

"You've been seeing her for a while now…"

"Hmm…"

"And you spent New Year together, skipped the cricket club thing, said you had a great time so I don't blame you for giving it a miss and all. But why aren't you with her on her birthday? Why drop her off home?"

"She has work tomorrow."

Richard ground his teeth together, "And I know Izzy keeps asking and I've told her not to but seriously Charles, will we ever get to meet her?"

"I don't want to rush her." He said defensively. "She was married a long time, it was a rough break up and we're just taking it slowly."

"Haven't you been seeing her since August?"

"Don't interfere Richard…"

"I know, I know…"

"I'm fine, I'm happy. She's great and I…"

Richard smiled, "You…?"

"I really _like_ her. That's all. And I don't want to rush her. So, leave it be and let's talk about what you called for…the clubhouse and fundraising."

"Alright, but I'm guessing our usual money maker of having an auction for a date with you is off the table."

Charles shook his head, "Definitely!"

* * *

**Same week – Saturday night/Sunday morning**

It was after one when Charles opened his back door and let Elsie in. She was smiling broadly and carrying a little package wrapped in tin foil.

"Too late?" She asked cautiously.

"I said whenever." He shuffled back from the door in his slippers, tugging his dressing gown tighter around him. "Is it snowing?"

"A little." She stepped past him, making her way up the stairs to his flat.

"You have a good time?"

"Wonderful. And I brought you some cheesecake, it's gorgeous, I knew you'd like it so I asked the waiter to add another slice to the bill and wrap it up for my boyfriend."

"_Boyfriend_?" He repeated – was she tipsy?

"I could hardly call you _man friend_ could I? Book provider." She laughed as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to face him, noting his appearance for the first time in the light of the hall. "Oh goodness you were asleep weren't you," she said, casting a glance at his ruffled hair. "And now I feel bad."

"Don't, I told you to come over, didn't I. Would you like me to make you some tea?"

"No, obviously not," she squeezed his arm. "You go back to bed, I'll put this in the fridge, use your bathroom, I can find my way around."

Fifteen minutes later she crawled into bed beside him in just her panties, he was warm and cuddly and she spooned against him, delighted when he lifted his arm up around her.

"Mm, you feel nice," she mumbled. "Like a teddy bear."

"You saying I'm fat?" He said sleepily. "And hairy!?"

She chuckled, "No, just nice to sleep with. Lovely." She placed a kiss on his chest, her leg curling over his. "Make love to me." She said, pressing more kisses to his skin, "Make love to me like you did in Edinburgh. Make me forget things."

His eyes slowly opened, glancing down to where her head lay. "What do you need to forget?" He whispered.

She sighed, her voice heavy with sleep and alcohol, "Who I am. What I've done."

He stroked her back, felt a deep pang of sadness and regret – did he actually even know this woman at all? And yet he felt desperately sad for her, desperately wanted to make it all better for her. Make her happy.

She was asleep within minutes but it took him considerably longer to quieten his busy mind.

* * *

When Elsie woke Charles was already up and she lay in silence for a while on her back staring at the ceiling. She could hear him fussing in the other room, perhaps the kitchen, the kettle boiled, there was the sound of a teaspoon against china and then the pop of the toaster.

He kicked open the bedroom door with his foot and carried in a tray.

"Morning," she said, shifting up a little in the bed.

"You're awake. Good morning."

"Hi." She ran a hand through her hair. "I feel bad."

"Why?" He placed the tray on the bed. "You mean hungover bad? Do you not want this?"

"No, not that, I'm not sick – certainly not like January 1st."

He chuckled, "Good. Because I have done my best with what I had."

She glanced to the tray – toast, bacon, scrambled eggs.

"That's so sweet Charles."

She couldn't help but think he'd received nothing in return for any of this.

"So, why do you feel bad?" He asked, sitting beside her on the bed and reaching for a slice of toast. "Thomas prides me on my scrambled eggs you know."

She smiled, "They do look good."

He handed her a fork, waggling it at her. "Maybe have a try?"

Nodding, she took it and started to eat. "I feel bad for turning up here at that time in the morning, slightly drunk, and getting in your bed."

"Why? Elsie I have no issue _at all_ with that. Turn up every night to crawl into my bed if you want to."

She knew he meant it as a joke – he laughed after all – but still, it was a bit too close to her concerns.

"I had no right to do it, I'm a fifty-one year old woman, not a student making the most of being young."

"Don't feel bad. I told you to come. I wanted to see you, spend some time with you." He nudged her arm with his. "Unless you're going to eat my food and disappear – are you?"

"Not unless you have plans. Isn't it church?"

"Willing to skip it…"

"Charles –,"

"Let's go walking in the freshly fallen snow," he interrupted, "test out those damn fine new socks you got."

She chuckled, "They're at home. And besides I have no clothes, no make-up, no toothbrush." She covered her face again. "God I'm so embarrassed, turning up here in my party dress for what…?"

He sat back laughing, raising his eyebrows at her. "For what indeed Ms Hughes. Is this what this 'booty call' business is?"

"Oh stop it." She shoved his arm as she put her fork down. "Thank you for breakfast Charles."

"You're welcome… Elsie."

She shook her head at him, "I should go home…"

He pouted, "Please don't. I thought we were going walking."

"We are. We can. But I need to shower and perhaps wear something suitable. Maybe you can pick me up later."

"So, you're going to sneak out of here, get a taxi in last night's dress…?" He teased.

"Stop it! Stop it!" She threw herself against him, gripping his arm as he laughed. "Oh god… I'll be seen as a total old slapper."

"Never." He said seriously, lifting her chin to look at her. "Never."

"You're always so nice to me."

"I waited a long time to be nice to you."

She smiled, "Hmm." Her lips tentatively touched his, taking her time, taking their time, as they kissed.

Charles shifted his arm up to touch her, wanting her body drawn against his, and the tray wobbled precariously on the bed, a tea cup tipping over.

"Oh shit," he cursed, quickly picking it up and placing it on the floor. When he turned back to Elsie she was half lying back on the pillows, chewing the end of her thumb nail. Irresistible.

He threw his dressing gown aside and climbed into bed with her – intent on spending a good couple of hours worshipping her.

* * *

In many ways it would be easier to go back, to return to the life she knew.

Thirty years with Joe and she knew him as well as she knew herself – his likes and dislikes, how he'd react to things, what she could say, what she shouldn't say. With Charles it was all so new, so much unknown, and did she really want that at her age? To have to start all over again? There was still awkwardness between them at times, they were on completely different plains when it came to politics and they moved in different social circles and had wildly different experiences of life.

It would be easier to go back to the life she was living. Surely being part of something – a marriage, a family – was better than the nothing existence of loneliness and reclusiveness she'd been slipping into before Charles. Oh but Charles, and what possibilities that held.

She felt like she was being torn apart. Her mind ached from it all. What did Joe even want with her? A quick fumble in her kitchen and she was doubting who she was again, where she was going. Why did she still allow him that power? What right did he have to come back and snap his fingers and what – she'd just fall back into role? Housewife Elsie. Ellie Burns.

Who was she anyway?

She didn't realise she was was crying until she opened her mouth to suck in air and tasted salt on her top lip. Reaching one hand up she covered the right side of her face, pressing the left into the pillow to absorb the fallen tears. She wanted to hide away, disappear, forget.

But what did it all matter when his head was between her legs and making her forget her own name? What did it matter anyway who she was?

She gasped tightly, a strangled noise in the back of her throat as she reached down to grab his head. "Stop, stop!"

When he looked up at her he was shocked, concerned.

"Just too much." She swallowed, panting, eyes half closed, desperately trying not to cry. "Too sensitive." She tried to explain and he nodded.

Once again guilt consumed her as she watched him move back up the bed and scoot under the sheets next to her. She was aware of how difficult that would have been, keenly aware that she was leading him on – back and forth – like some game he didn't even know he was in.

She had to let go of this. Walk away from him until she got her own head straight, not keep trying to balance the two.

He tugged her to him though, buried her face against his neck and kissed her head. She was emotional and he didn't know why. Maybe because it was her birthday? Maybe because she was a little hungover? He'd never fully understood women.

"Elsie…" He whispered, taking a chance, he needed to say something. "You said last night that I made you forget who you were."

She squeezed her eyes tight shut, she didn't want to have this conversation.

"I'm not claiming to understand what you meant. I wouldn't presume to. But I just want you to know," he closed his eyes, searching for the right words. "That I am willing to wait, to take our time. I know you were married a long time and I can only imagine how it feels to have to move on. But I will wait. I won't push."

She bit her lip so hard to keep herself from crying that it bled.

"Our trip was wonderful, and I think for both of us it showed what we could have, maybe, in time…" He'd never been so nervous, not even when he told Violet he would be moving to Italy for a year! "But I also know that in many ways you're keeping me at arm's length."

"Oh, don't say that." She mumbled against him.

"I'm not stupid. I haven't met your friends, your daughter…"

She pulled back, enough to breathe.

"I know you need space, and I accept that, and I'll wait, I'm willing to wait, until you're ready for me to meet them. But I'm not going anywhere. I just want you to give us a chance."

She nodded, bleary eyed as she stole a glance to his face. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"You haven't." He assured her, squeezing her hands. He brushed her fringe back from her face and kissed her forehead. "Turned me on quite a bit though."

"I'm sorry about that too." She said shakily.

He lowered his thumb to her lip, "You do worry this so," he wiped the tiny smear of blood away, "you don't need to worry."

He tucked her against him and she felt something like a child being cared for, safe and warm and knowing that whatever happened this man wouldn't hurt her or force her into anything.

She closed her eyes again and slept.

* * *

By the time they'd organised themselves enough to head out it was after three and the sky was already darkening. So they left the car at Elsie's apartment, she changed, and they walked from there just so they could get some fresh air.

For a long time she was silent, listening to Charles talking about a book he'd just read and his desire to head to Australia at least once in his life to watch the cricket.

As they crossed from one field to the next, clambering over a stile, she stopped and waited for him, looking back from where they'd just walked.

"Goodness, we've only been going twenty odd minutes and it seems a different world."

"That's the joy of living near the country," he said, swinging his feet to the floor. "It's on our doorstep, we need to make the most of it."

"True."

Her nose was rosy and her cheeks flushed, she looked endearing.

"What?" She asked, catching him staring.

"Nothing. How are the socks?"

"Warm."

"Good. Then they're doing their job." He walked past her, "And it means I choose great presents." He stopped when he felt a snowball hit him in the back and turned very slowly to face her. "Did you _really_ just do that?"

She nodded sheepishly.

"Want a battle then, do you?" He reached down to ball snow in his hand.

"Now Charles, you're stronger than I am." She said, throwing a flurry of snow as she ran past him.

"And you're faster." He threw the snow at her legs.

"Ah! You're cheating."

"How is that cheating? I never cheat." He threw another at her legs, "Nothing in the rules about hindrance though, wasn't that what you said in Edinburgh?"

"You sod!" She tried to bend to collect more snow but a third ball hit her square at the back of the knee and she fell forward, squealing.

As he moved closer, armed and ready to finish the attack, he couldn't help but pause to look down at her – and that had been a mistake.

Whilst distracted she lifted her leg, catching him off guard and hitting him square in the back of the shin until he crumpled beside her.

"That was a dirty move," he laughed, rolling over.

"More so than bringing a woman to her knees with a well-placed snowball?" She slapped her hand against his upper arm, "Goodness, it feels good to laugh."

"Nice to hear you laugh."

Her hand still rested on his arm and she squeezed it tenderly this time. "Let's go back, get out of our wet clothes, have a glass of wine, light the fire maybe…"

"Sounds good." He smiled, happiness flourishing in his chest.

* * *

"It's the warmest room in the apartment," she said, bending by the fire to stoke it up again. "You just need to get it going."

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece behind her, it was already nearing seven and at any point he rather expected to be sent on his way. He dug his hands into his trouser pockets.

When she turned back to him she had an impish smile upon her face, "You're dripping on my carpet."

"Oh god, sorry." He moved quickly back through the room towards the hall.

"No Charles, I rather meant…" She tilted her head to one side to regard him, letting out a long breath. "I rather meant you ought to undress."

Sighing he stopped, turned back to face her and glanced down at himself self deprecatingly.

"Unless, you don't want to."

He felt like he'd been waiting to do this all day, all week. Sometimes he wanted her so badly his very bones ached at the thought of it.

Shedding his jacket and jumper he watched as she did the same, undressing and moving to the sofa. Often he felt like she was so delicate he might break her, she disappeared in his arms; the first few times they'd made love he'd worried he'd hurt her, engulf her.

Lying with her in the dim light of the fire he could imagine he was erasing whatever doubts she had, whatever fears. As she moved beneath him, soft and warm and welcoming, his own fears could easily be pushed aside. Her mouth claimed his, his hands tight on his shoulders and her legs curved up, wrapping around him, holding him to her.

He was moaning her name when the telephone rang, disturbing the rhythm, breaking his focus and she grasped tightly at his arm, scrambling from beneath him to reach across to take the receiver from its cradle.

"Hello…" she breathed, holding the mouthpiece away from her as she panted. Charles' face was buried against his shoulder, his breathing shallow, his body slick with sweat against hers.

_"__Mother dearest, it is I."_

"Anna, honey," she tugged at the blanket from the back of the sofa, pulling it over them, somehow concerned her daughter could sense their nakedness over the phone. "Is something wrong?"

_"__Nothing, I'm on my way over. Felt bad for missing your birthday and I'm free until Wednesday afternoon now so I thought I'd come and spend a few days at home."_

"Oh…Oh, okay…" She tried to sit up, knocking Charles towards the back of the sofa. He pushed himself up, his desire tempered.

_"__That okay?"_

"Of course it is. When will you be here?"

"_I'm going for Chinese food, I'll get your favourite. Say half an hour?"_

"That'll be lovely."

_"__Great. Get some wine out hey and set up the sofa so we can watch a movie."_

Elsie glanced down to where her naked body still lay sprawled on that very sofa, Charles knelt between her legs. She swallowed, licked her lips, "I'll do it now. Seeya soon."

Running a hand through her hair she glanced nervously to his face "Sorry."

"It's alright."

She smiled sheepishly, "There's little further from the truth I feel," she nudged his leg with her toes. "And we'd only just got going."

"I'm guessing you want me to go…" He looked helplessly at her, his eyes dark. When she didn't speak he shook his head, "Of course you do," and extracted himself from her.

Frustrated she watched as he pulled on his underwear.

"This isn't how I'd want you to meet her."

He almost laughed, "You don't _want_ me to meet her."

"Charles, we only had this very conversation this morning…"

"I know," he sat on the chair to pull on his socks. "That's why I'm fine with it."

"Clearly you're not." She sat up, reaching for her bra which lay upon the coffee table. "You have a choice Charles…"

His head snapped up, "What?"

"I told you this morning I'm not ready for more." She stood, pulling on her damp sweater. "You claimed to accept that."

"I do. I didn't expect to be turfed out like some kind of…"

"What?" she was angry now, she didn't like being backed into a corner and that's exactly how he was making her feel. "If you don't want to do this then fine. I never forced you into anything."

His mouth hung open for a second, he didn't want that, of course he didn't.

Pursing his lips he shook his head at her, "Sometimes Elsie… sometimes…"

She followed him to the door, her body still hot, slick, all for him. Her heart pounding in her chest at the thought he was going to walk out that door and be done with her.

As he pushed his feet into his boots he stood back, looking up at her, "Have coffee with me?" He said suddenly.

"What?"

"This week. Don't make me wait all week to see you. Meet me for coffee one afternoon, you pick the day, I'll close the shop."

"Charles." He was ever a surprise to her. When he didn't speak, just held her gaze, tested her resolve, she relented. "Thursday. I'll meet you Thursday."

Smiling gently he leant forward and kissed her cheek, "Coffee and cake, Thursday afternoon."

She looked up at him, her mouth curling into a slight smile, "5:00?"

"Perfect."

* * *

**Present Day – Friday, 8****th ****January**

Charles was pacing their bedroom, his hands stuffed in his pockets picking at the inside lining of his trousers just to give him something to do rather than smash a fist into a wall.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd seen him?"

"I am telling you."

"A day after the event."

She sighed, flicking through dresses in her wardrobe, "I needed time to just work through it myself."

"Work through it. What the hell happened?"

She didn't like the tone in his voice, he was angry, she knew that, but she didn't particularly welcome or accept that anger.

"I told you, I was in the supermarket. And there he was."

He waved a hand at her, "No Els, don't cut it short." He was sitting on the bed watching her, "I want to know how it played out."

"Played out…?" She laid a dress on the bed. "It wasn't a game."

"Stop!" He said, his voice rising. "Stop, and talk to me properly."

She wasn't used to him demanding anything and it surprised her. She crossed her arms and leant back against the wardrobe door defensively.

"You can't just stand there and say 'I saw Joe yesterday' Elsie and expect me to shrug it off."

"I didn't want to talk about it today, now, when we're meeting friends in an hour for my birthday."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have said anything at all! Hide it from me completely. Like I don't matter."

"Don't say that," she sagged back against the wardrobe. "You know I don't feel that. I share everything with you now."

"Then talk to me."

Sighing at the softness in his voice she started to speak, "I told you I went to the supermarket on the way home yesterday, my turn to do the shopping remember, and I was reaching for something high and a hand came up and took it down for me and it was him."

"And?"

"And he gave me the bottle, that bloody fancy olive oil you wanted, and smiled and said it was good to see me again." She watched his face, expectant, nervous. "I'm not going to lie Charles I was shaking inside, but I wasn't terrified, I didn't fear him. And surely that's a sign all this money I've spent on bloody therapy is working. He wished me happy birthday and kissed my cheek and walked away."

"He did what?!"

"Walked –,"

"NO!" he was on his feet again, his voice almost a roar, "he kissed you?!"

"Charles."

"He kissed you. He touched you. I'll fucking kill him!"

"Charles!" He never swore like that, never, she was the one with the mouth, not him.

"What's his address?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?! That man put you through years of violent abuse and then the bastard thinks he can kiss you. I'll rip his head off!"

"Charles calm down."

"I warned him if he ever came near you I'd kill him…"

"Because that will fix things, won't it!"

"What do you want me to say? Good for him, Els, why don't we invite him out tonight?"

"Now you're being childish."

"Am I. Why didn't you tell me when it happened?"

"I told you why," she untied her robe, reaching for the stockings she'd already laid out on the bed. "I don't want to do this."

"Right, because it's easier to shut me out than to talk it through."

"Don't do that. I share everything with you. _Everything_."

"But you tell me a day later."

"For fuck's sake Charles!" She finally shouted, "Because I needed to deal with it, process it, _myself_. Do you understand that? I don't want to run to you to spill my guts every five minutes, I needed to deal with it myself." She sighed, exhausted. "And now I'm telling you, and I won't tell anybody else because it isn't important, he isn't important."

She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, "And the last thing I need or want is for you to get upset and angry and threaten violence. I told you before that isn't you, it isn't who you are and I wouldn't want it to be."

"Seems you don't really need me anymore." He shrugged, sitting back on the bed.

"Oh for goodness sake," She stood before him, reaching a hand up to stroke his face, "Believe me Charles, there is nothing, _nothing_ in my heart for him, there hasn't been for many, many years. You know how I love you."

He nodded, "I know that. I didn't mean that."

"Then please let it go, please. It was bound to happen at some point, we live in the same town."

"He should move."

She was sure he was almost pouting. "_Honey_…"

"I know," he shrugged. "I want to protect you."

She didn't have the heart to tell him that actually now she felt like she could protect herself. "And I love you for that, but trust me, hmm, when I say I'm okay. It was unnerving at the time and last night yes it bothered me but now I'm fine. And I did tell you Charles, I wasn't going to hide it, I really did just need some time to myself to think it through."

He nodded, accepting if still a little annoyed.

She let go of him, sitting on the edge of the bed to roll her stockings up her leg. She felt him lean over her and tilted her head up to receive his kiss.

"I just love you, you know." He said lightly as he took his trousers off the hanger.

"I'd never have guessed. You hardly ever tell me." She teased, the harshness of the moment slowly passing.

* * *

**Present Day – Monday 11****th ****January, 2016**

"I'm just saying I don't like the thought of you going out on your bike in frosty weather."

"I went yesterday, I was fine, and I need to get this festive weight off." He patted his belly. "Don't want to look like Santa in a tux on our wedding day."

"Alright, but be careful." She swallowed the remains of her cup of tea. "Okay, I need to get going. I'll see you later." She leant over where he sat reading his paper and kissed his cheek. "Have a good day, ring the caterers again won't you, we need sample menus."

"I've got my list." He pointed to where he'd stuck it to the fridge door, not taking his eyes from the paper.

"Bye." She called from the door.

"Have a good day." He responded, refilling his tea cup. "And don't be late it's Roast Lamb for dinner."

"I'll be there. House husband." She teased, before closing the door.

He shook his head at the sound of her laughter.

* * *

It was the start of period five when Elsie's classroom door opened and she was about to bark at whichever child had entered without permission when she looked up to see Phyllis there.

"There's a call for you Elsie, in the workroom. I'll get your class in. Get them reading."

For some reason she made her way quickly down the corridor, fearful it was Anna, praying there wasn't anything wrong with her, anything but that. Later, she'd come to regret making such a wish.

She picked up the receiver; in the corridor it was the frenetic change of lesson and she had to cover one ear to hear correctly.

"Hello?"

_"__Oh hello there, I've been given your name by a Mr Charles Carson."_

"Yes?"

_"__I'm calling from Harrogate District Hospital."_

She felt her stomach drop, throat tighten. "Is he okay?"

* * *

After seating Elsie's class and getting them started on their ten minutes reading time Phyllis headed back down the corridor. Pushing open the work room door she immediately stopped, concern seeping out of the room and into her.

Elsie was standing by the work bench holding the phone receiver in her hand, or rather letting it dangle from her hand, as she stared into space.

"Elsie. What's wrong? You've gone awfully pale."

"It's Charles. He's been in an accident."

* * *

**_Ohhh... dramatic pause! Well, once again thank you for all your support for the previous chapter. There were so many things I loved about this one but I think Thomas &amp; Elsie (sassy bitch) was my favourite bit to write! Let me know what you think about how it's going. Much love xx R_**


	42. Chapter 42

_This chapter takes place during January 2015 and January 2016._

_TW for marital abuse and heartbreak._

**Chapter 42 – Change**

**End of January 2015**

She was late. She hated being late. It was in bad taste and came across as lazy and disorganised – of which she was neither. At work she prided herself on doing things correctly, to the best of her ability. Yet she was no pushover, if she disagreed with the latest fad or scheme she'd say so. But if Elsie Hughes was behind you then her support was unwavering.

Reports would be thorough and precise, usually completed days before they were required. Books were accurately marked with useful feedback. Her lessons were never less than good, often outstanding, and her relationships with both staff and students was professional yet friendly.

She prided herself on her ability to do her job well because there was a time when she didn't have a job and her hunger to be doing something useful burned inside of her. Years and years of just existing. And then somehow, in some way, she found a way out.

It had taken every ounce of strength and bravery to sit in front of Joe one night at dinner and nervously, hands shaking as they rested on her knees below the table, tell him that she was taking an Open University course. That her plan was to become a teacher. That she'd passed the entry tests. That of course it wouldn't interfere with her running of the house or her desire to be a mother to his child, but the money would be good and perhaps they could move to a bigger place.

_'Yes.'_ He'd breathed and she'd trembled, crossing her ankles as she watched him eat.

_'Don't let anything slip.'_

And that had been all he'd said.

But later, as she'd stood at the sink doing the dishes, he'd touched her from behind and she'd closed her eyes, knowing what was to come.

He'd been particularly rough that time, insistent. And she recalled the feel of the cool tiles beneath her, the angry fluorescent light of the kitchen ceiling as she'd blinked up to it. Twisting her head away from him, noting the dust gathering at the corners of the floor, the places she hadn't cleaned as thoroughly as she could. A pounding deep inside her, in her head, the beat of her heart – oh but it wouldn't touch her heart, that very thing had been isolated, turned off, so very long ago, perhaps even before she'd met him.

And her knee smashing against the tiles. She'd yelled at that, a raw, unmanaged cry of agony – and he'd done it again.

For weeks she'd questioned if it was worth it. Hobbling about. A slither of freedom offered in this distant dream of having her own job, her own profession.

The course would start in September. She found out she was pregnant in July. Plans were put on hold, but not forgotten. Sometimes she wonders if he did it on purpose, got her pregnant, but then she knows that's ridiculous, they'd never used birth control.

* * *

There was something about the way Charles ran his store that reminded her of her own work ethic. He was punctual. Organised. Knowledgeable. Thorough. And, though not natural to him, he would chat to customers when and how required; altering his tone, the content, in order to best fit their needs. She respected that about him. She always had.

So, of course he was already seated in the coffee shop. Sitting bolt upright gazing out of the window searching for her. She'd parked someway down the road, where there was a space, and trampled over the day's old snow, waving when she saw him.

She slipped inside, gripping the door handle and berating herself for not taking more care on the icy path and wet floor and he'd stood as if coming to catch her. But she smiled and hobbled towards him.

"Hi," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Sorry I'm late, I lost track of time and then left late." She shook her head. "Think I chanced a few red lights on the way here." She reflected, slipping her coat off and hanging it over the back of a chair.

"Oh dear. Don't worry about it, it's not too late." He sat back down, pushing a menu across the table to where her chair was.

She glanced at her watch, "Nineteen minutes Charles, practically an age to someone as punctual as you."

"I don't mind, really. Glad you made it." He watched as she lowered herself into a chair, inching her leg under the table.

"Something wrong?" He asked.

"Hmm?" She flipped over the menu, digging one hand into her bag and searching for her glasses.

"You seem to be struggling with your leg."

She chewed on the end of her nail, feeling her chest redden. ""It's this damned winter weather, I think the ice gets into my joints."

He chuckled, "Ah, the joys of age."

"Indeed." She reached down and rubbed her knee. "The truth is I hurt it years ago, it's fine mostly but sometimes, when the weather's like this or I've been on my feet all day it aches."

"How did you hurt it?"

She closed her menu, "I'm having the coconut and lime cake. How about you?"

"I quite liked the sound of that one too. That or the chocolate marmalade cake."

She reached over and touched his hand, a fleeting memory of being naked on her couch with him on Sunday afternoon. "Let's have a slice of each and share."

"It's a plan." He pushed his chair back, "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, of course."

"Of course." She watched him go to order, stretched her leg out beneath the table and rubbed at her aching knee again. She'd take a bath tonight then smother it in that aching joints cream she had that smelt like the inside of a hospital.

"Not much fun is it," he said, retaking his seat. "The ice."

"Oh don't get me started. I'm about ready to leave the country. I can't stand all this, dark mornings, dark nights, and cold and snow and ice and sitting for hours in traffic because the roads aren't clear. It depresses me. Look," she said waving at the window, "it's already going dark."

"Some sunshine would be welcome."

"Very much so. In fact," she sat forward, her elbows on the table. "I was chatting with a colleague in the staff room at lunch and she's booked her holiday for Easter and she's waxing lyrical about it – showing me the pictures on her phone, it looked like heaven. She's cruised in the area before apparently."

He was pouring their tea as he listened, "Where's she off to?"

"Dubai." She took her teacup from him, shuffling in her chair to get comfortable. "You're well travelled. Have you ever been?"

"Actually no." He glanced up to the waitress putting their cake down. "Thank you very much."

"Ooh this looks good."

"How do you want to do it?"

"Shall I play mother?" She smiled, lifting her knife and slicing the coconut cake in half.

"Well, as you are one."

His mention of Anna reminded her of her guilt over Sunday. She wasn't proud of her behaviour. He was so good to her, with her, the way he'd take his time, his patience, his seemingly endless capacity to forgive her sudden changes in emotional direction.

She slid his plate to him, licking icing from her finger. "I am sorry about what happened on Sunday you know." She said gently, aware of others in the coffee shop – she certainly didn't want her sex life the talk of the town.

Did he actually blush?

He took his time chewing his cake before he answered, "That's alright. I'm sorry I got a little… well, I don't usually act like a stroppy child."

"You were hardly that," she chuckled, "and I should know, I have experience with them."

She watched as his fingers tentatively reached out to brush her hand, the pads of his fingers nervously touching the edge of her wrist. This man who she'd rolled around naked with for three days in Scotland, who'd had her up against a wall, who she'd sat astride and taken as much pleasure from as she'd given.

Breathing deeply she crossed her legs, the memory of it bringing a tingle of pleasure to her core, the sudden desire to have him inside of her again.

Certainly not the kind of thoughts an upright member of the community should be having as she sat eating cake late in the afternoon.

"So, are you going to go?" He suddenly asked, thankfully disturbing her reflections.

"Going where?"

"On holiday. For the sunshine."

"Oh, right, yes. Well, I don't know." She poured them more tea. "I mean it would be nice wouldn't it. Especially at Easter when I'll be on my knees from all the exam prep." She pushed her plate away, half of her chocolate cake left.

"You don't want that?"

"Feel free," she smiled, sliding her fork off of the plate. "Or even now, February half term, get away from this misery."

"You should go. It'll be gorgeous I bet."

"I could do with just lying in the sunshine for a week, and doing little else." She sipped her tea, glancing out at the darkening sky, windows covered in condensation from the heat of the café and the cold of outdoors. "Trouble is I've never travelled alone. I'd feel odd about it. Exposed somehow. And Beryl won't come. She can never afford a thing. Anna has exams…" She turned her attention back to him finishing her cake, a contented smile playing upon his lips. "Why don't we go together?" She suddenly said, her mouth speaking before her brain even had time to kick in.

"Sorry?"

"We could…" she stuttered, sitting forward now, putting her cup down as this idea began to take shape in her head. "I mean we didn't kill each other in Scotland, did we."

"I thought we got on rather well." He put his fork down, daring to hope that she was suggesting this – a proper holiday together, and she was suggesting it!

"Very well. So, how would you feel about going?"

"I'd love to go." He was practically bouncing on his chair.

"The shop?"

"I just close it when I'm away, I put the dates up in advance."

"I'd organise it all," she said nervously, biting the inside of her cheek. "I don't mind. Find a hotel."

"We could go this weekend couldn't we, to the travel agents."

"We could."

A broad smile slowly edged across his face, and she found her own do the same at the sight of it.

"Dubai then." She said, holding her teacup up.

He tapped his against hers, "Dubai it is."

* * *

"I don't know what possessed me to say it!" She'd exclaim to Beryl a few days later as she sat in her kitchen writing out cake labels. "Is the size you want?" She asked, holding a card up and showing her.

"Perfect." Beryl pushed her errant hair back and continued rolling out icing. "Now, start again, you suggested taking a holiday with lover boy?"

"Yes."

"Despite the fact you're keeping him at arm's length…"

Elsie glared, "Don't make me out a complete bitch."

Beryl laughed, "Hardly. Cautious. I get that."

Elsie slanted her pen to one side, scripting '_Raspberry and white chocolate_' across the card. "I am a complete bitch." She sighed, "we had such a wonderful time in Edinburgh and I'm still…"

"…Keeping him at arm's length. But don't beat yourself up love, bloody hell you had years with that bastard."

"Beryl."

"Yeah I know, but still. It's about time you took some time for yourself, had some fun – and from the sounds of your New Year trip you're having lots of fun!"

Elsie sighed, "I think he's falling for me."

Beryl snickered.

"What? Don't laugh at me, I'm not being big headed."

"It's hardly that," she continued laughing, her rolling pin wobbling in the air.

"Then what? Don't mock me – I won't help with these bloody cards!"

"It's just… oh goodness Elsie, _falling for you_! The man is besotted."

"What?"

"Surely you know that."

Elsie turned her attention back to the cards, sliding a blank one in front of her, '_Chocolate &amp; Cherry'_. "I do not know that."

"Maybe you don't want to know that." Beryl pointed out, returning to her icing.

"Don't say that," she huffed, "it scares me."

"He does – or perhaps your feelings for him are the thing that's scary?"

Elsie breathed deeply, twiddling the pen between two fingers. "Let's stop talking about it now."

"You brought it up."

"And now I'm putting it to bed. Let's talk about something else, where are all these bloody cakes going to anyhow?"

"I'm having a stall on Saturday at some fair, Daisy's helping out, raise the profile a bit, try and get some wedding orders and such. You should pop along, bring Charlie."

"I'll come along," she bit her lip, "on my own I think, he's working."

Beryl thinks he'd probably walk over hot coals if she asked him to never mind take a few hours off work to accompany her somewhere – but she lets it pass, if she's learnt anything about Elsie over the years it's that she doesn't rush into things. If Beryl had things her way she'd left that bully many, _many_ years ago instead of waiting for him to do the ditching.

"As you wish," is all she says.

* * *

**Monday, 11th January 2016**

She'll never know how she drove herself to the hospital. Many of her department colleagues offered to take her as she frantically got her things together and left garbled instructions to Phyllis about her classes. But she insisted she'd be okay, that Charles would be.

Now, as she gripped the steering wheel, she wasn't sure what she was going to do nor what to expect.

Somehow, in a moment of clarity, she dialled Anna's number on the car phone. Of course she didn't answer, she'd be in the shop. She dialled again.

After several seconds she was greeted with, "_Good morning, Carson's bookstore_."

"Anna, honey, it's mum. Look I need you to do something for me."

"_Mum? You sound funny_."

"Charles has been in an accident, I need you to fetch me things from home. I'm on my way to the hospital now and I don't want to have to leave him, if he's got to stay he'll need things."

She was garbling, Anna struggled to follow her. She perched back on Charles' stool behind the counter, her hand resting on her stomach. "_Mum, what kind of accident?_"

"A car crash, I warned him not to go out on that bloody bike, it's still too icy, he's determined to start some New Year health kick."

"_Is he okay?_"

"Stable but serious, they said, I don't know what that means. I'm almost at the hospital. But I want you to go to the house and get clothes for him, he'll have been in his biking gear, so get him warm clothes and shoes, proper shoes." That suddenly seemed vey important to her.

"_Alright I will, don't panic. John and I will shut up now and sort it, we'll be there soon, don't worry_."

"I'm not worried. He'll be fine."

* * *

It was hell to park, she could feel her ire rising as she watched an elderly lady trying to reverse out of a space, and she was usually so calm when driving. Not today. Today she felt like dragging the woman out of the car and doing it for her.

By the time she'd parked and raced into A&amp;E she was flustered, her chest red and blotchy.

"Charles Carson, he was in a road accident, a collision." She caught her breath as the receptionist searched the database.

"Are you his wife?"

"Fiancée, Elsie Hughes."

"If you take a seat I'll get someone to talk to you, could you complete a form for me on your fiancé?"

"Well. I'll try." She took the sheets of paper and sat down, fiddling about in her bag for a pen. It occurred to her, as she made her way through the questions, that she actually knew very few of the answers, and she suspected the same would be true for Charles. She had to count back for his year of birth, she guessed at his weight, she knew of no family illnesses. Their relationship, their life together, was actually still very much in the early stages. They hadn't yet built anything together.

She shook her head, turning the page on the form; she couldn't allow herself to slip into melancholy.

"Mrs Carson?" A young man said, standing over her.

She got to her feet, "Hughes. We're not married yet. Is he okay? Can I see him?"

"Yes, I'll take you to see him now. But I wanted to ask first, does your fiancé have any heart problems?"

"His heart? No, not that I'm aware of. I thought he was hit by a car."

"He was. Or rather he hit a car. He swerved on the road, lost control and went into the path of a car."

She grimaced, "I told him the roads would be slippy."

"Yes but I suspect he may suffered a heart attack prior to the accident, that caused him to lose control."

She placed a hand on her chest, "His heart?"

"We're still running tests but that's my suspicion."

"Okay," she tried to breathe, to process the information. "And will he be able to go home?"

"I think I'll probably want him to stay in. Maybe just overnight, we'll see. He needs to have his arm set."

"He's broken his arm?"

"And a couple of fractured ribs too I'm afraid."

"Oh god," she covered her mouth with her free hand, the other scrunching the document she still clasped.

"He looks battered and bruised Ms Hughes but it could have been a lot worse. Shall I take you through to him?"

"Yes… Yes please." She hooked her bag over her arm and followed him down the corridor, through several grey doors and into a small room where Charles lay propped up on a bed.

His face was badly bruised, and clearly he'd cut his head quite severely as there was a large bandage across it. One arm was being supported and his head was tilted back on his pillows, eyes tightly shut, both were bruised and blackened.

"Charles…" She whispered, holding her breath, he'd never seemed small to her, never.

His eyes cracked open as she stepped into the room.

"I'll leave you a moment." The Doctor excused himself and closed the door.

"The state of me," he mumbled, she wasn't sure if his mouth was swollen or he was on strong painkillers but his words slurred either way.

"Oh darling," she was beside him in a second, holding his good arm, kissing his head. "I was so worried."

"You should be, look at me, what an idiot, total hindrance."

"Don't say that." She kissed him again, stroked his cheek. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Okay?" He indicated his sorry state, "As opposed to what, being dead?!"

"Charles, don't say that!" She sank into a chair by the side of the bed, still holding his hand, her voice softening. "Don't ever say that." She kissed his fingers.

"Bike's trashed."

"Good, going out on it in this weather."

"I've done it every year since forever."

"Well no more."

"Is this you putting your foot down?"

"Yes. Don't defy me." She smiled up at him.

"And my heart?" He said softly, she noted the slightest hint of fear in his tone. "He thinks it was a heart attack."

"I know."

"So I'm no good anymore. Ready for the knacker's yard."

"You're feeling like crap so I'll allow you to be dramatic but no, you're not. It's just a warning, if it is a heart attack. We'll deal with it."

"How?" He closed his eyes again and she leant over him, brushing his hair, kissing his head.

"We just will."

"Didn't know where I was," he mumbled, exhaustion and painkillers combining. "Must've blacked out for a bit. Then some woman leaning over me and asking me questions – I thought it was you."

"Shh, I'm here now, I'm not going anywhere." She kissed his head again. "Go to sleep. I'll take care of you."

* * *

Elsie only left Charles' bedside when Anna forced her to and even then she only went because John was with him.

"You need to eat," Anna insisted, dragging her to the canteen.

Standing in the queue with a wet tray in her hand she closed her eyes, a strange metallic taste circled her tongue and she felt a wave of nausea hit her.

"I can't stay in here. I need some fresh air." She said, handing the tray to Anna.

"Ok, I'll bring you out some tea."

Outside she sat on a low wall watching the smokers gather in their assigned area. It was only just after six but already dark as night and their smoke circled in blue white plumes above their heads. She contemplated asking them for one and joining the group and only sitting on her hands and imagining Charles' face if he caught her with a cigarette stopped her from doing it.

"Here," Anna said, thrusting a paper cup into her hand. "It probably tastes like crap but when did you last have anything?"

"I had a tea at break today and half an apple." She sipped the bitter tasting beverage. "God that's vile, this is what we pay our taxes for?"

"This and plain cheese sandwiches apparently," she smiled handing her one.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Anna took the lid off of her own drink and blew the steam off the top. "So, how you doing?"

"Bloody marvellous." She bit into the corner of her sandwich, chewing it seemed an effort in itself let alone swallowing the tasteless mush. "Suddenly I don't feel quite so hungry. If they serve this stuff to Charles he'll go crackers."

Anna laughed, "Now that I'd quite like to see actually."

Elsie put the sandwich aside on the wall and closed her eyes, tilting her head back and breathing in the frosty night air. "What the hell kind of a start to the year hey."

"Yeah. And he was in such fine form on Friday night, though he did drink quite a bit but he was cracking jokes and –,"

"–We'd argued."

"What?"

"Before we met you at the restaurant. We'd argued, over your father, would you believe."

"Why?"

"Oh because I bumped into him in the supermarket and stupidly didn't tell Charles straight away." She shrugged. "He was upset, thought I was hiding something."

"Were you?"

"It was nothing more than me wanting to prove I could deal with it on my own. Silly. And now this – probably because of stress, don't you think?"

"Mum, we don't know that." Anna turned her own sandwich over in her hand. "I saw him too."

"Who? Your father!"

She nodded, "I called him, we had lunch."

Elsie felt disappointment rise in her, "Oh."

"I'm pregnant, I thought I should tell him face-to-face."

Elsie licked her lips, "And?"

"And he asked if I was getting married, seemed glad that I wasn't."

"You are still young." She watched as Anna rubbed her hand back and forth across her swollen belly. "You've grown up," she suddenly said. "I hadn't realised just how much in such a short time." Stretching her legs out she pulled her coat tighter around her. "How was he?"

"Better, actually. Back with Sarah," she breathed deeply, unsure whether to tell her their news - but surely honesty was best. "They're having a boy..."

For reasons she didn't want to explore she felt her stomach drop. "You're going to have a brother." She stated.

"Half brother. Pretty weird though, my own baby and my brother will only be months apart."

"Yes. Very odd." She felt Anna slide her hand into hers. "I don't forgive him mum, I never will. But he needed to know, I wanted to give him that chance."

"I know." She nodded. "When's the baby due?"

"June I think, maybe July, David is what they've settled on."

"That's what he's calling him?"

"Yeah, why?'

Elsie shrugged, fiddling with her engagement ring. "It was his grandfather's name."

"Oh. I didn't know." She squeezed her mum's hand. "Charles will still be this one's grandpa you know."

"I know, don't tell him about Joe hey, not yet. I don't want him to worry."

"Sure."

Elsie closed her eyes, breathing in the icy air, enjoying the slightly painful sensation as her chest swelled with it. "Remember I told you the other night we've all got to die at some point? Well not now, Anna," she snuffled back tears, her voice thick with emotion. "Not now. I've only just found him, I can't lose… what we have…"

Anna grasped her mother's trembling hand in both of hers, "He's not going to die. It's a straightforward operation to clear the blockage, he'll be fine. Of course he will. Just grumpy."

"Oh god, can you imagine?" She hastily wiped her face. "Let's go back. Richard and Isobel should be here soon. They insisted on coming, I texted Thomas, do you think there's anyone else I need to inform?"

"Not now mum, don't worry about it."

"So stupid, I don't even know if he has any extended family, who he'd want to know."

"It doesn't matter. John can deal with things like that. Just, come on," she draped her arm around her helping her to her feet.

* * *

"It'll be over pretty quickly," Richard assured Elsie as they sat gathered in the small seating area. Somehow she'd kept it together since the talk with Anna, adopting a calm and practical air seemed the best approach. If she got emotional she'd lose control and right then she needed to be very much _in_ control.

She could feel Isobel's eyes on her, Isobel's red and puffy eyes, and was doing her best to avoid being drawn into anything. She hadn't cried in front of them and she wouldn't, though perhaps Isobel saw that as uncaring. Emotions were high and the situation fraught and the adult in her kept reminding her of that. _Stay calm Elsie, he'll be fine_.

Reaching into her handbag she took out her phone and flicked through her messages.

"I don't think we're meant to use phones in here." Isobel said. "Richard?"

"Well, it depends."

"It's fine, it's going away." Elsie said lowly, "I was checking for work. I'll need to take some time off." She tilted her head back, leaning it against the wall and avoiding all of their gazes.

Each minute dragged and when the heavy fall of footsteps clattered down towards them she thought it was the surgeon on his way back with news. Her chest tightened as she stood up, only to find Thomas' worried face coming towards her.

For some reason the sight of him caught her off guard and when he got close enough she threw her arms around him, sobbing like a child against his shoulder.

"Hey love, the big man's gonna be alright." He said rubbing her back. "He's got you hasn't it, as if he's gonna give all that up – marriage and shit, he's gagging for it."

Despite herself she laughed into his jacket, her tears mingling with her giggles.

"Thank goodness you're here." She whispered and he squeezed her waist.

"Of course. And look at this gorgeous creature." He smiled over her shoulder. "No doubting you're Elsie's daughter looking that divine. How's the bump?"

"Bumpy thanks," Anna smiled back at him.

"Hope you're taking care of the big man's grankid, he's ecstatic."

"Doing my best."

He pushed a still crying Elsie gently back from him, "Now, you got that out of your system now? You're meant to be the the sassy one remember."

She took a deep breath, "I shall try."

He wiped a thumb over her cheek, brushing an errant tear away. "Good, he's gonna need to see your pretty face when he opens his eyes, jolt that heart right back to life."

* * *

**Tuesday, January 19th, 2016**

Charles gripped the side of the bedhead with his good hand as he pushed himself up. Dangling his feet over the edge of the mattress he tentatively pressed his toes into the carpet and watched as they wiggled into the plushness.

Taking a breath he braced himself then stood, steadying himself before letting go of the bedhead. He wobbled only for a second, his hand coming to rest at the place where his ribs ached, then with a determined sigh he set off across the bedroom. Each step seemed like eternity but he finally made it to the door, eased it open and inched his way down the corridor towards the kitchen.

He'd been sleeping in a makeshift bedroom downstairs, the room they'd planned to turn into the master suite to accommodate them in old age. Charles was non-too-pleased at having to accept it as his place of rest way before that. Luckily Elsie had moved in with him – though he felt that was more to do with her nurse-maiding him than anything else.

Twisting the handle on the kitchen door he pushed upon it, finding Thomas cursing at the hob and turning buttons haphazardly.

"What the hell's going on?" Charles asked, leaning gratefully on the back of a chair. "I thought you were going make me some soup, you've been ages."

"This fancy thing, what's it got all these knobs for?"

"Heavens above, you'll drive me to my grave." He slowly sank into a chair, grimacing. "Did you forget my painkillers too?"

"I was going to bring them with lunch. What are you doing out of bed?"

"I can't keep sitting in there, staring at the walls. Drives me mad," he eyed Thomas tipping something into a pan. "Why Elsie thought it would be good to have you here I have no idea."

"Me neither. I'm hardly cut out for being a carer." He dug around in the drawer searching for a spoon. "She's arranged it all though, so you're not alone."

"Mmm," Charles frowned, "I know." After his return home she'd spent an age on the phone writing names onto the calendar so that someone would visit him every day. He'd lain in bed listening to her – born organiser. He eyed his broken arm, the pot on the table. "Hand me a knife."

"I don't think things are quite that bad."

"I have an itch in here – I'm either going to scratch it or smash this thing to bits."

Thomas opened the drawer searching for some tool other than a knife; he'd never known Charles to have such a short temper, not even when he was regaling him with his latest conquests.

"Can't do a damned thing." Charles muttered. "Not even shower myself. She's got to do it all."

"It won't be for long mate." He handed him a skewer. "Be careful with that."

"I'm not about to slit my wrists."

Thomas stirred the soup as he watched Charles fussing. "Make the most of it you know, having this time, read, watch some box sets."

"Box sets?" He muttered irritated.

"Yeah, get yourself into something. Breaking Bad or Game of Thrones or go for a classic – you know I got Elsie the Sex and the City box set?"

"That pink thing she's put in the cabinet beneath the television?"

"Yeah. Don't watch that without Els." He chuckled carrying the bowl of soup over to the table.

"Ah, got it! You little bastard!" Charles groaned in relief as he scratched the right spot.

Thomas laughed, "Nice turn of phrase."

"God that's nice."

"You want me to do anything else for you? I don't mind staying…" he said, turning the watch on his wrist.

"Go, go, I'm not a total invalid. I can manage to feed myself, not quite dribbling yet."

Thomas got to his feet, finding his belongings. Truth be told he was dying for a cigarette, he'd never dare smoke anywhere near the new house, let alone near Charles in this condition – Elsie would kill him.

"Would you believe I have actually got to go and do some work?"

Charles' eyes widened, "What is it you actually do?"

"Fashion and shit, for the magazine. You know that."

"Honestly I thought you just drifted around all day."

"I'll forgive you that, because you've still got a broken arm and black eyes." He squeezed Charles' shoulder. "Take care mate, think I'm in again in a few days."

"I'm not an invalid. I keep telling her that." He shouted after Thomas.

* * *

**Thursday, January 21st, 2016**

Elsie was home late. She was exhausted and concerned. She'd been ringing Charles for the past forty-five minutes and no response. There was a garbled message on her phone from Anna saying Charles had sent her away and seemed in a grumpy mood.

No surprise there, she'd reflected, he was permanently grumpy at the moment.

Bloody parents evening. And bloody bad weather. And bloody men who can't accept when they're ill and need taking care of.

"Charles!" She called, as she practically fell through the front door. "Where the hell are you?"

No response.

She dropped her bags on the floor, not even stopping to remove her coat and shoes.

"Charles?!" She shouted again, moving quickly through the house.

She found him in the reading room; his feet propped up, headphones on, eyes closed.

"You bloody man!" She complained, clambering over the sheets of The Times that lay across the floor, and yanking off his headphones.

"Hey! What the hell! I was listening to Bach."

"You'll be listening to the wrong end of my tongue if you do that to me again."

"Do what to you?"

"I must have rung you twenty times on my way home."

"I didn't hear the phone."

"Clearly. And you send Anna home."

He rolled his eyes, picking up the headphones again. "I don't need a nurse, I keep telling you. Making them hang around here all day in case I pop my clogs."

"That isn't why she's here, you've a broken arm, you had heart surgery, you're still recovering."

"You treat me like a child. I don't need a nanny."

"Today you acted like one." She stood back, hands on her hips surveying the room. "And what's with all the paper?"

"I got in a mess with it, lost my temper. So I laid it into sections, easier to manage with one arm."

"For goodness sake Charles, the ink will seep into the carpet." She bent, picking up the sections and putting them back together.

He watched her bottom as she moved, the tight stretch of the material of her skirt.

"You were a week in hospital," she said as she tidied up after him. "You can't rush these things."

He rolled his eyes, "A week of hell." He complained.

"I'm knackered." She said, folding the paper and placing it onto the table beside him. "I need a shower and bed."

"There's a late film on I want to watch, some French thing."

"Oh, okay."

"I'll be fine, I can get myself to bed. You know you don't have to keep sleeping down here with me, that bed's not much good anyway. I don't mind if you move back to our room."

She watched him for a moment; the days old stubble, the lack of apparent care. As annoyed as she was her tenderness for him overrode everything else.

Leaning over she kissed his head, "You won't miss me, sleeping apart?"

He shrugged, "Only for a few days. I reckon I'll be able to manage those stairs again soon."

She ruffled his hair, "Why don't you have a soak in the bath? I can help you in and out."

"Els, I'm fine, I told you I'm going to listen to this then this film starts at eleven."

"I'll be asleep."

"I know. But I won't. I'm fine." He popped his headphones back on. "Happy and dandy."

* * *

**Tuesday, January 26th, 2016**

"What's for dinner?" Charles asked as he settled himself at the kitchen table and spread out his newspaper.

"Salad…" Elsie started, taking plates from the cupboard above her head.

"Oh jeez again? We had salad last night."

Breathing deeply she turned to him and slid her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest, kissing his cheek. "I know honey, but I'm trying to make it interesting, some fancy thing with strips of steak tonight, last night it was chicken."

"It's boring."

She bit back the sharp comment that was on the tip of her tongue, the last thing she wanted to do was argue. Never, mind that searching the Internet for decent things to do with salad had taken up most of her lunch hour or that she had a thousand jobs to do for work which were going to take ages and on top of that she'd got three emails to respond to concerning wedding plans.

But no, she said nothing, just smoothed her hands over his chest and tried to be consoling.

"I know it can be boring, that's why I'm trying to liven it up, and it's for the best isn't it, as the Doctor advised, to keep you healthy and I am doing it with you darling."

"Hmm…When can I have pie again?"

She brought one hand up to ruffle his hair, "Maybe Sunday, homemade, less butter in the pastry. I'll make you one with my own fair hands, you usually think I'm pretty good with my hands…" She teased, whispering by his ear.

"Mmm…" He mumbled and turned the page on his newspaper.

Standing to her full height she left him alone, returning to preparing dinner, her iPad propped up on the side with the instructions on. It seemed she had to combine about a hundred different powders with the special olive oil she'd searched the supermarket for just for the bloody dressing.

Still, she did it. And she listened to Charles complaining about the quality of the reporting in the local paper.

When it was finally prepared she actually thought it looked pretty good and she carried their plates to the table with a smile on her face.

"Ah great. Are we having wine with it?" He asked, spreading out his napkin on his lap.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Surely one measly glass of red can't hurt."

"I guess not." She opened a bottle, poured two glasses, drank a third of hers and filled it up again before carrying them to the table.

Charles had already started eating and was pulling a face.

"What now?" She asked; Elsie was known for her patience at school but right at this second she was on the precipice of losing it.

"Tastes kind of…" He chewed his meat. "Like Chinese food."

"It's Asian salad."

"Oh."

"What?" She sighed; she hadn't even picked up her cutlery.

"Nothing. Just didn't know steak could be done like that, like this. Seems a bit of a waste of good steak."

Elsie moved so fast Charles barely had time to react. His dinner was yanked out from under him and she poured the contents of both of their plates into the bin.

"That was a bit dramatic don't you think!" He said, his voice rising, astounded by her actions.

"Oh, go to hell!" She responded, picking up the bottle of wine and her glass and slamming the kitchen door as she left.

_Well, that was fine_, he decided, with her gone he could have what he bloody well wanted for dinner and no having to follow strict rules set out by some boring desk bound Doctor. Only he didn't feel in the slightest hungry now.

He spent the rest of the night lying on the sofa flicking through meaningless television stations. The book she'd purchased for him – a new historical thriller – still lay unopened on the coffee table and he contemplated reading it, the blurb sounded pretty good. But he couldn't really be bothered to put in the effort.

Elsie worked in her office for most of the night; the bottle of wine helping her through, she snacked on breadsticks and finally gave in around 10:30. Her back could take no more of being hunched over a desk.

She showered, changed for bed and made her way down. She could hear the sounds of some action film coming from the lounge and tiptoed in to take a look.

Charles was fast asleep on the couch. There was a bowl of half-eaten grapes on the coffee table and a glass of something clear and fizzy – she picked up the glass and gave it a taste – mineral water.

_'Fine,'_ she thought looking down at him,_ 'sleep on the fucking couch.'_

But when she was in the kitchen tidying up after him she found herself drawn back to the lounge. She dug a blanket out of the chest in the hallway and covered him up, kissing his forehead and switching off the television before she took herself to bed.

Charles woke around 2:00, shivering and disorientated. He sat up, glaring around the dark room, before stumbling to his feet and heading down the hall to the bedroom. From the window by the bedroom he could see it was snowing outside which explained his frozen toes.

He tiptoed in, undressed and scooted into bed beside her, lying flat on his back as close to her warm body as he could. He lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the falling snow.

In time she turned, stretching in her sleep, settling her head at the side of his on the pillow as she had a hundred times before, and he found he naturally leant into her. She was soft and so warm against him he soon drifted into sleep.

When he woke she was gone and the house was still and silent. The clock blinked angrily at him – 7:25 – and he sat up, rubbing his face and recalling the weather from the night before.

Crawling out of bed he drew back one curtain and surveyed the snow-capped fields stretching as far as the eye could see. And then on their drive… Tyre tracks! What in heavens name had possessed her?

He reached for the phone by the bed, dialling her number, for some unfathomable reason feeling blisteringly angry.

"_Hi, Charles, I can't really talk, I'm trying to concentrate on driving_."

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"_What_?"

"Driving in this, all that way. It's bloody stupid!"

"_School's open I have to get there_."

"It's dangerous. Stupid."

"_You said that and it's no good moaning at me now, I've got to concentrate. If you want to ball me out do it when I get in tonight._"

"You shouldn't have gone –,"

"_Goodbye Charles_."

He spent the day whittling and pacing, switching from one news channel to the other for the latest headlines. As it happened school closed at lunch and the buses came to pick the students up, she left soon after, it took her almost two hours to get home but she got in just after three, safe and sound.

"Good lord I'm glad to be out of the blasted car." She said, taking off her hat and scarf and shaking the snow onto the welcome mat. "Charles?" She called unbuttoning her coat.

He lumbered in from the lounge, still wearing his dressing gown and pyjamas.

"You're home then."

"I am indeed, and freezing and with a bad headache. I need a soak in the bath and hot chocolate." She hung her coat, turning to look at him. Her cheeks were rosy red and her eyes glinting with adrenaline. "What? Were you worried?" She asked gently.

He shrugged, hands in his pocket, "Just think it's silly, to drive in that."

"I've done it for years, it was fine once I got off the country roads, just slow moving traffic."

"It's dangerous, you shouldn't have done it."

She moved towards him, resting her hands on his chest, "You know instead you could just say Els, I love you and I was very worried and I'm glad you're home now, you know."

He stared down at her, damp hair and chapped lips. "Go get your bath Elsie."

* * *

**Thursday, January 28th, 2016**

"How about Pain and Arse?" Charles laughed, looking up from the television to find Elsie glaring at him.

"That's not helpful."

He shrugged. "You said kitten names. How about Fur and Ball?"

"No." She tapped away furiously on her laptop.

"Money and Drain?"

"Charles!" She snapped. "If you can't think of anything sensible then don't suggest anything. And do we really have to watch this?"

"I like it."

"It's that bloody stupid antiques show, it's on all day, don't tell me you've not just been lying here day after day watching it because I know you have. And you have it so loud! I can't hear myself think."

"Well go work some place else, nobody asked you to sit in here with me."

She snapped her laptop shut, getting to her feet. "No, because god forbid we spend some time together. That you actually talk to me."

"What's that mean?"

"You know what it means. Ever since the hospital you've either ignored me or argued with me. I'm not sure what I've done wrong but clearly you hate me for it. Either that or hurting me has become your new sport."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." He turned his attention back to the television.

"Dramatic! I've put up with this for ages now, I'm doing my best to help Charles and yet all you want to do is push me into arguing."

"That's it, right there!" He pointed the remote at her. "To 'help', like I need it. Like I can't take care of myself. If I were living in the flat I'd be on my own and doing fine."

"And is that what you want? To be back in _your_ flat on _your_ own? Because the way this is going…"

"Suits me."

She huffed, "You don't mean that…"

He turned away from her, staring at the television again.

"Don't keep turning your back on me." She was doing her best not to let any sign of tears creep into her voice. "Charles…"

"You said you had work to do. So go do it."

Elsie spent the next hour hunched over the kitchen table snuffling into a handkerchief and desperately trying to plan her year 9 lesson. Presently school work, in fact anything, was the farthest thing from her mind. There'd been a shift in her man, in the relationship they shared, and she couldn't quite fathom why or find a way to bring him back. In fact the more she tried the more he pushed the other way.

Richard had warned her that sometimes, following an accident, the shock of it can knock a person's confidence, alter their personality slightly. She kept reminding herself of that every time he snapped at her, or laid a barbed comment in her direction, or spent the day lying around in his pyjamas watching television.

She wondered just how long it would go on for. And what state their relationship would be in by the time he came out of it.

* * *

**Sunday, January 31st, 2016**

She watched him that morning, sitting on the edge of their bed unbuttoning his pyjama shirt with one hand. She'd showered, was drying her hair sitting at her vanity, where she had a clear view of his actions.

His shoulders slumped down, his chin dipped. He hadn't shaved for three days – she'd kept count – the banter between them was gone, and worse than that she felt awkward now, like there were unsaid things, unshed tears, and no matter how patient she was trying to be he was pushing her to the edge.

She watched as he fumbled with the third button down, cursing as it popped between his fingers. Turning off the hairdryer she got up, tightening the tie on her robe and going to kneel in front of him.

"Here, let me." She reached up to unhook the button. "You just have to ask." She said gently.

"I wanted to do it."

"I don't mind."

"That's not the point."

She sighed, reaching the bottom of his shirt and opening it. His angry looking scar stared out at her from his chest and she tenderly ran her hand up his chest.

"Don't do that," he snatched his shirt back together.

"Charles." She sighed, leaning back, her hands reaching to touch his legs. "Talk to me, hmm, please."

"You don't have to fuss round me today, go out, do something with your Sunday."

"I don't mind." She squeezed his legs, trying to smile, "I promised to make you a pie didn't I. We can watch a movie, plan the garden for when Spring arrives, I could read to you…"

"For fucks sake Elsie I need some space." He said, getting abruptly to his feet, wobbling slightly.

She stood behind him, her hands on his upper arms. "Are you alright?"

"I hate this! I hate it."

For a moment or two they stood silent, her hand still on his back, his breathing deep and laboured. She searched for something to say but words failed her. Leaning forward she placed a kiss to his shoulder through his shirt and he jerked forward.

"I need to wash."

"Do you want –,"

"Don't even finish that sentence!"

* * *

By the time he'd made it to breakfast he was resolved.

Elsie was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. There was a pot of tea in the middle, a cup set out for him, a plate ready for his toast and bread sliced on the side.

Standing behind his chair he rested his hand on it and squeezed until his knuckles turned white.

"I can't keep doing this." He said and she looked up at him over the top of her glasses.

"Okay."

"We've done nothing but argue. If I sit here now and eat breakfast with you we'll probably argue again. I need to get out."

"Alright. Well, go for a walk, get some fresh air or something, then we can try talking again with clear heads."

He shook his head, "No. I mean _really_ get out."

She slid her glasses off, hand trembling.

"I think it's best I go away, take some time…"

"Some time?" She interrupted, fixing him with a questioning gaze, the glasses in her hand hanging in mid-air.

"…Some time to myself."

She pushed her plate of toast away, her appetite immediately gone. "I see. And how much time do you need, for yourself I mean?"

He bit his cheek, was rewarded with a bitter metallic taste around his tooth.

"Is there a timeframe Charles?" she asked, more irritated. "Because perhaps I might need to know that."

He looked down at his empty plate, waiting for the breakfast she would have prepared for him. "There's no timeframe Elsie. Richard and Izzy have a place in Cornwall on the coast, she said I can use it. If I need it. It's quiet there."

"Oh I'm sure she bloody did."

"Don't make this about her."

"Well, maybe you could enlighten me as to what _this_ actually is. Because clearly you've spoken to her about something you haven't shared with me – which makes me feel like total shit, so thanks very much for that!" She threw her napkin to the table. "So maybe if you explain we'll all understand, hmm, myself and the sainted bloody Isobel."

"Elsie…" He rubbed his face.

She wasn't sure if it was hurt or annoyance that passed over his face, but it scared her either way. Was he annoyed with her? Aggravated by her? The thought stung as painfully as when she'd received the call regarding his accident.

"I don't know what's going on," she whispered now, panicked. "And they clearly must think I'm doing something wrong here, with us, because otherwise why would they offer to lend you a house to live in? And why did they?"

Her mind was racing, frantically working through the possibilities, the questions. "What do they think is happening? You must have told them something about us, something you clearly haven't told me Charles because I don't understand why you're going."

Her last few words were strangled and she caught her breath, afraid to say more, afraid she'd start crying and not stop.

"You know things have been off since… Well, I just feel a break would do me good. Health wise. I can just… Just have time to think."

Suddenly, there was a particularly sharp lump in her throat, and an odd feeling, as if she'd been swimming and swallowed too much water.

She closed her eyes, drawing in air, filling her lungs until she felt they'd burst.

"Alright."

"Sorry?"

"Alright." She pushed her chair back, got to her feet, "If that's what you've decided. And how will you get there, what with your broken arm and injured ribs?" She swallowed. "And healing heart."

He held her gaze, focussed, determined. "Izzy's agreed to drive me down, when I'm ready."

She nodded, "Right, and nursemaid you too no doubt." She pushed her chair away from her, the sharp noise irritating as it scraped the tiles. "Well, I'm clearly not needed so…" She shrugged, "I guess you'll be fine without me."

She hurried from the room, covering her mouth as she did, determined not to cry.

She headed upstairs to their bedroom, then into the bathroom slamming the door shut behind her – the farthest place in the house she could think to be away from him. Once behind the door she let the tears come, covering her face as she sank down into the chair in there, and when it had started it couldn't stop, she sobbed for what she saw as the end of it all. For what she couldn't understand.

Charles followed her upstairs some time later, breathless and aching before he even reached the top. He stopped by their bedroom door when he heard the sound of her tears. His hands closed in on themselves, knuckles tight and white. He would have gone to her, but something stopped him. And instead he sat at the top of the stairs listening to her cry.

He'd pack later.

Get Izzy to drive him down that afternoon.


	43. Chapter 43

_I just want to say the biggest **THANK YOU** imaginable to all of you who reviewed the last chapter and commented on tumblr – it was amazing and kind of overwhelming that you cared so much. To the one person who thought the story sucks – all I can say is this is MY Charles and MY Chelsie relationship and if it's not your thing then that's one thing but please don't be mean. I give this story SOOOOOO much of my time and effort, there's no need to be hurtful._

_Do go and listen to Joni (Both Sides Now, 2000 version) as you read, she's a genius and this track is the mood I was going for in this chapter. watch?v=aCnf46boC3I_

* * *

**Rows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air**

**and feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at clouds that way.**

**But now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyone.**

**So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way.**

**I've looked at clouds from both sides now,**

**from up and down, and still somehow**

**it's cloud illusions I recall.**

**I really don't know clouds at all.**

* * *

**Chapter 43 – _Both Sides_**

**Thursday, 12th March 2015**

Elsie rushed from her car to the pub, holding her handbag above her head as she went, the rain appeared to be coming from both ground and sky as she ran, splattering up her legs and drenching her shoulders.

She pushed open the door, instant warmth hitting her face, and scanned the room for Charles.

From his position by the fire Charles rose to his feet, his pint in one hand halfway to his mouth, and beckoned across to her.

"I'm sorry," she said once close enough, coming around the side of the table to kiss his cheek. "I got caught up and time ran away and then I left at the wrong time and…" She sighed, "So, sorry I'm late. Again."

"It's alright."

"I always seem to be late, don't I?" She swung her bag from her shoulder and took out her purse. "I'm going to get a drink."

"Should we order our food too, it's starting to get busy."

"Oh, we're eating?"

"I thought we were," he felt a familiar anxiousness settle in his stomach where she was concerned of late. A struggle to find time with her, and then a rush once together and forgotten plans… He was beginning to wonder whether this week in Dubai that was coming up would even happen.

"That's fine," she smiled, sinking into the seat beside him. "Do we have a menu? Have you chosen?" She asked, simultaneously opening the menu and slipping her glasses on.

"I have."

"Let me guess – hmm look, pie and chips."

"Ah now you'd be wrong this time see because I am going to try this thing here," he pointed at the Thai platter. "Adventurous."

"That is adventurous. Good choice."

"You're having a positive influence on me."

"Mmm, I might have the same."

"Copy." He smirked.

"Another pint whilst I'm ordering, or do you want to share some wine? Did you drive?"

"Bike. Wasn't raining when I set out."

She got to her feet, noticing the bag beneath the table for the first time; clearly he'd changed when he'd arrived. "Wine then?"

"Yes, you choose."

"Won't be long. Table number?"

"Seventeen."

Once she'd returned with their wine she sat across from him, pouring and settling in for a chat.

"So, busy week again?" He asked.

She wondered if he meant the tone in which his words were said, still she let it go, relationships were nothing if not a mass of misunderstandings and contradictions. "Well yes, it's the last couple of months before exams. Everything's pressure, levels of progress, questions about how we're closing the gap." She rolled her eyes. "I'm boring myself."

"I like hearing about your work."

"I'm sick of it at the moment, I can't wait for Easter."

"You're looking forward to the trip?"

"Of course, sunshine! Aren't you?"

"Well, yes, of course." He didn't want to admit he felt that they seemed to be going backwards in some ways in their relationship. That after Edinburgh she closed herself off from him somewhat and he was still in the dark as to why.

"So do you fancy going for a walk this weekend? Spring is on its way finally, always nice and fresh to be out there this time of year. Whichever day you're free I can arrange to close early or get Thomas in."

"Erm, yes, sure. How about Sunday?" He nodded his agreement as he topped up their glasses. "I'll need to get new boots though, mine have seen better days. I'll call somewhere Saturday and get some."

"Best only do a short one then if you're bedding in new boots. Say ten miles or so."

She coughed on her wine, covering her mouth with a napkin. "_Ten?_"

"Too much?"

"I'd say five is long enough."

"Sorry. I'm used to going alone. I just plod on."

She wondered if that was how he'd lived his life, plodding on through it, nothing to really shake it up. "Well I wouldn't say I'm unfit but I haven't walked any kind of distance since I was a child."

He chuckled, "Five it is, I'll find something fairly low key. We'll have to build up your endurance."

"We will."

Dinner was pleasant enough, though he found one dish a tad too hot and worked his way through a pint or so of water.

It was still raining when they left, "So, you want a lift?"

"Sure, not sure the bike will fit though, don't want to wreck your car."

"Let's see."

They lowered the back seats and Elsie spread out a blanket she kept in the boot.

"Get in," he said as he folded his bike in half and eased it in, "You're getting soaked."

He soon joined her, shaking his head free of water as he slammed the door.

"Come in for coffee?" He asked when they reached the shop.

She glanced to the clock.

"You have work to do." He stated watching her.

"Well, nothing that's needed immediately, its Thursday and I only have a couple of lessons tomorrow. I could do it then."

"Come in then?"

She put the handbrake on and turned off the engine.

They had sex on his couch whilst the coffee pot spluttered and steamed in the kitchen. And it was just that, sex, because she still had her skirt and shirt on and his was still hanging on his shoulders as she moved on top of him. It was quick and frantic and about gratification – though whose he wondered about afterward as he made their drinks.

He missed Edinburgh and making love.

They sat at either end of the couch drinking their coffee, Elsie had her legs curled up beneath her and he found it odd to know that beneath the long skirt she wore she had no knickers on.

"So what kind of time would you like to go?"

"Are you throwing me out?"

"I mean walking, as you well know."

She smiled, cradling the mug in her hand. "I don't mind, mid-morning so we can have lunch after?"

"I thought we might go out for dinner, Sunday night."

She finished her coffee and put the mug aside, stretching her legs out on the couch. He lifted them, laying her feet in his lap, one hand curling around her ankle.

"How about I cook?" She said after a while. "Saturday night instead. You could come over…" She paused, breathing, watching his fingers form circles upon her ankle, his gentle touch enthralling. "…Stay over and then we can walk Sunday morning." She paused again, closing her eyes. "You know I always end up working Sunday night."

She was falling to sleep; he knew the signs, the soft lilt to her voice, the way her head drooped to her shoulder.

"That would be lovely. What time?" He shook her leg a little. "Elsie. What time?"

She opened her eyes, glancing down at him, "Erm, say around seven?"

"That's great, gives me time to close up here."

"Mmm," she closed her eyes again and he lifted her feet from his lap, put his mug down and shuffled onto the couch next to her.

His movements woke her and she twisted onto her side facing him, "I'm not sure it's big enough…"

But somehow he got on, lying on his back with her body half on top of him.

"Just for a moment." He whispered, kissing her forehead.

And then they were kissing properly, and that was what he remembered from Edinburgh – the luxury of just lying with her and kissing endlessly. The feel of her body in his arms, the feeling of being content and happy.

She was the one to move things forward, pushing his shirt off, undressing him as he lie beneath her. And then her own shirt and the awkwardness of getting off the long skirt she wore. Naked on his couch in his warm, small lounge, they made love; her leg over his hip, his strong arms supporting her body as they moved so slowly, so tenderly.

She slept in his arms and when she woke it was after four and she almost fell off the couch. Stumbling into her underwear she bumped her leg on the coffee table and cursed.

"What's wrong? What's happening?" Charles asked, blinking in the lamplight.

"It's 4:07 in the morning and I have to be up for work at 6:00 and we fell asleep." She muttered, and he forced himself to sit up and listen because she sounded so damned angry.

"I knew I shouldn't have come in."

"Don't say that, it was nice."

She felt bad as she looked at him, scrunched up on the couch, puppy dog eyes and rosy cheeks.

"It was," she admitted, "very nice. But now I'll be tired all day and feel mixed up." She hitched up her skirt, "And I feel a bit like a loose woman sneaking out of your flat at this time in the morning to go home and shower."

"Shower here, get in my bed and go back to sleep, I'll set the alarm."

"I can't."

"Why not?" He couldn't help his smile, all this while she'd been dressing her bottom half but she hadn't put her bra on yet and her perfect breasts were bobbing about so beautifully as she moved he wanted to gather her in his arms and worship them.

"Stop smiling." She said, knowing full well what his smile was about. "I can't go into work in the same clothes I wore yesterday." She started buttoning her shirt up.

"Who'd know?"

"I'd know." She leant over him, kissing his head. "Sorry I was brusque with you."

"I don't mind."

"You should. I'll see you Saturday."

"Let me get up and let you out."

"I can manage." She pressed on his shoulder.

"I want to say goodbye properly."

"No," she pressed more forcefully, "Because that will involve kissing and then I won't leave. I can manage, I know the code for the alarm." She backed away from him, grabbing her bag from the back of the chair. "Saturday."

"I can't wait."

* * *

_**Moons and Junes and ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way that you feel**_

_**as every fairy tale comes real; I've looked at love that way.**_

_**But now it's just another show. You leave 'em laughing when you go**_

_**and if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away.**_

_**I've looked at love from both sides now,**_

_**from give and take, and still somehow**_

_**it's love's illusions that I recall.**_

_**I really don't know love at all.**_

* * *

**Sunday, 31st January 2016**

She didn't watch him leave. She heard a car pull up just after lunch, the angry sound of the tyres on icy gravel, and then Richard's voice and a mumbled conversation.

She stayed in bed. Hiding.

When he'd gone she cried again, because there seemed little else to do. And the endless tears led her to sleep. When she woke it was dark and she was cold and uncomfortable from lying on top of the bed in her clothes. Her head ached and she wobbled, dizzy, as she got up and headed to the bathroom.

The thought of work almost made her cry again and she resolved to take Monday off. She wouldn't usually dream of such a thing, she'd never taken sick days, not even with Joe. But if she told them she had a migraine it wouldn't be far from the truth.

Flopping back onto the bed she reached for her phone from the side table and flicked her finger over it. No messages. No calls. And the background shot of the two of them at their engagement party served as a knife to the gut.

Scanning through her contacts she hit Beryl's name without really considering what she'd say.

"_Hi sweetie, what can I do for you? Need me to do a shift with Charlie boy this week_?"

"Beryl, I know it's late but I was wondering… could you come over?"

"_I can, sure, what's happened, what's wrong_?"

She gulped on her words, another sob filling her mouth, "He's left me."

* * *

Alone Charles sat in the darkened lounge cradling a rather large brandy. Alcohol, strictly speaking, was off the agenda whilst he was recovering and he'd had little more than a measly glass of red wine since the 'accident'.

He swirled the liquid around in the glass, watching the contents slip higher up the side, timing his actions with the relentless thrum of the tide. When he glanced at the clock he realised it was two minutes to twelve, almost February, and surely staying in a beach house in Cornwall was a far cry from most people's dreams of how to spend the month. But he liked the gloom. He liked the cold. The beach, so vibrant in summer, held a certain kind of misery, abandoned and grey as it was in the winter months.

And the sea raged on.

He swirled the glass harder sending the liquid over the edge and spilling down his hand. Putting the tumbler aside he lifted his hand and licked the brandy from his thumb and thought of Elsie. How Elsie tasted.

The clock turned twelve. Midnight.

"White rabbit," he said aloud, hoping for luck.

* * *

Lying on the sofa with her head in Beryl's lap Elsie cried and cried. Too far gone to be embarrassed or ashamed as she let out every ounce of emotion. Her friend's hand rested heavily on her shoulder, the other smoothed her hair back, on the verge of tears herself, on the verge of anger (_she'd bloody throttle Charles_) but also confusion (_he adored her – how had this happened?_)

When she'd quieted enough for Beryl to feel comfortable moving she'd poured her a large whisky and Elsie sat – her feet tucked beneath her on the couch – and swallowed it down in one.

"Another?" Beryl asked, standing in front of her with the bottle, and Elsie held her glass out and watched as it was refilled.

Sitting beside her Beryl sipped her own drink, she'd driven there but it had soon become apparent she wouldn't be driving home; she didn't want to leave her alone in this state.

"I'm sorry," Elsie finally said. "I'm not usually like this."

"Sweetheart I know that," she patted her knee. "You're never like this. Not even with _him_."

Her old friend was right. Even in the darkest moments with Joe she'd never been like this. Never even cried. Certainly never laid her pain on someone else's doorstep. It was all shut away.

"Wanna tell me what happened?"

Elsie shrugged, taking another gulp of whisky. "I don't even know." She swallowed, licking her lips, she hadn't eaten since that slice of toast at breakfast and the alcohol, combined with the exhaustion of crying all day long, was quickly making her dizzy.

"We've been arguing. Ever since he got out of hospital. Non-stop it seems." She huffed, laying her head back on the sofa. "I don't know, maybe I've been too much, smothering him. I just worry you know, I didn't want to lose him, not to a heart attack or…" she took another drink, "…turns out I lost him anyway."

Beryl dug her nails into her palm, "Surely not. Not really."

"He walked out." She stated, staring at her, "I'm not sure what other message I need."

Beryl opened her mouth to speak but found words would be an intrusion.

"He's shut me out. I don't know, maybe the heart attack was a wake up call, maybe he got sick of waiting for me to catch up, maybe I'm too much to deal with – all this baggage, all this shit I've put him through – Joe and my father and counselling and Anna…"

"You know he wanted all that. It's part of you. He accepted it. He wanted a family – you gave him that."

"Clearly not."

"That can't be what this is about."

"I don't know what _this_ is about. Honestly. Obviously Isobel knows, and Richard, they're more his family."

"That's bullshit. Have you spoken to them?"

She shook her head, emptying her glass again.

"Then you don't know what they know. What he's said. Don't drive yourself mad with supposition."

Elsie groaned, covering her face, "Oh god what a mess. What an absolute mess. I'm going to have to find somewhere to live again, a flat, and selling this place, or buying me out." She felt her voice tremble. "And Anna! What about that? The shop – her livelihood, her home, and the baby on the way and all these bloody wedding plans hanging in the air…" she was panicking, frantic the more she thought about it.

"Don't jump the gun."

"My life's so tied up with his now. That's why I resisted for so fucking long, because nothing lasts, and now look – everyone dragged into this, other people hurt, the whole messy business."

Beryl caught hold of her flailing hands. "Elsie, listen to me, you're getting ahead of yourself. Don't rush into anything, no big decisions, you don't know what's going on with him, what he wants."

"No. But it seems he knows what he _doesn't_ want. Me."

* * *

**Tuesday 2nd February, 2016**

Charles nursed his hand as he walked along the beach, another week or so and this damned pot could be off. He was sick of the weight, sick of the itching, and not being able to do things for himself.

It was freezing cold out yet the sky was an odd milky grey colour, swimming ahead of him, endless. He made his way down to the sea, the tide was out and it was quite a walk but he welcomed the exertion – if the old ticker gave out then it was meant to be.

By the time he'd reached the water's edge he was breathless and invigorated. Staring at the waves for a long time he realised how good it felt to be alone for a change, nothing but his own thoughts, his own wants and needs to meet. He'd lived his life alone it seemed, never had anyone else to please, not really, and it felt good to be back inside his own head. Silent and still.

He kicked his shoes off, used his good hand to tug off socks and push up trousers and then he stepped into the surf, gasping aloud at the pain of the cold water lapping up his ankles.

He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, let the February winds wash over him. Brittle and stark.

"You're brave," a timid voice came from behind him and he reluctantly opened his eyes, he didn't want to interact with any human beings, let alone a stranger.

At his feet there was splashing and he looked down to see a Springer Spaniel by his feet, dashing back out of the water when it felt the cold.

"See, not even she can stand it."

Stepping back from the shore Charles turned, shielding his eyes against the odd light of the sky. Before him stood a woman, younger than him, maybe 38, certainly no more than 40, blonde, petite, almost tiny. If she turned sideways she'd maybe disappear.

"You a local?" She asked, and there was no mistaking her Cornish accent.

"No. Yorkshire."

"Ahh, used to the cold then."

He smiled, "I guess so."

The woman bent to hook a lead onto the dog's collar as it jumped about between them.

"I'm Caroline by the way, this is Maisie."

He reached to ruffle the dog's ears, "Hello Maisie. I'm Charles."

"Good to meet you Charles. You erm, had an accident?" She asked, indicating his arm.

"Car accident. Should be coming off soon."

"Nasty." She turned to stand beside him, looking out over the sea. "Pretty amazing isn't it, especially this time of year, without tourists littering the place up."

"Ha! I'd usually be a littering tourist. I am, in fact."

She smirked, "You're staying around here?"

"Not too far, about twenty minutes walk. My friends have leant me their place. They've got a house further in-land but I like this little cottage, it overlooks the sea."

"Nice. Recuperation?"

"Something like that." He wiggled his toes in the sand, finding the damp grains comforting as they spread between his frozen toes.

"Fancy a cuppa?" She said. "Warm up a bit." She glanced down at his feet. "Good thing round here, nobody really minds if you trail in a bit of sand to the café."

He smiled. "Tea sounds good."

And he set off, following her up the beach.

* * *

"So what is it you do, when not risking frostbite on the Cornish coast?"

"I erm, well…" he sipped his tea, "I guess I'm pretty much retired now. I have a book shop, but I'm not really working there anymore."

"You own it?"

He nodded, glancing towards the cake counter – he kept hearing Elsie's voice going through the damned diet sheet the doctor had supplied her with. Her 'rs' rolling over the words 'carrot', _"Definitely no carrot cake Charles."_

He smiled, remembering.

"And, you're married, children?"

He bit his lip, "I have a daughter." He said, mind racing, tongue thick in his mouth. "She's running the shop, pregnant too."

"Oh how wonderful! What's she having?"

"We don't know, I mean, she wants it to be a surprise."

"That's cute. What do you want?"

He'd never considered that, he glanced at the table, feeling his arm itch. "I don't mind you know, just healthy, her and the baby."

"When she's due?"

"April time." The time he was meant to be getting married.

"And your…wife…she's happy?"

He felt his cheeks rise as he smiled, "She's shocked. But yes, happy, concerned, worried, Anna's still her baby too."

Caroline smiled, nodding her head, "I hear you. My son's seventeen and still my baby."

"Elsie…my erm, my wife… I suppose she would have liked more children herself, it just didn't happen that way." He wondered why he was stretching the truth this way, hiding away behind it. He curled his hand together.

"She's here with you?"

"No, she's working, she's a teacher."

"She has my sympathies."

He smiled, finishing his tea. "She loves it, you know, she's always so busy with it. Gives her all."

"That's good…" Caroline lifted her teacup, draining it, Maisie was fussing by her legs, she'd been sat inside for too long now. "Look I'm going to have to go, this one is ready for her lunch. But if you're here a while, I might see you on the beach again."

"Yeah maybe."

"Maybe another cup of tea?"

He smiled, leaning back in his chair, he knew that tone, he sensed her interest. "Yeah. Maybe."

* * *

He dreamt that night. Fitful and sweaty in the strange bed, the distant sounds of a storm out at sea.

A blonde haired woman in the lounge of the beach house, his comfy chair from Yorkshire, laid back in it with her between his legs, on her knees, her mouth right there.

And he'd woken up shouting out, feeling disorientated and agitated. But there was nothing going on down there, when his hand had wandered to his pyjama bottoms, no sign of arousal. There'd been nothing going on down there since the day he'd smashed into that car – a feeling of terror in his chest. A loss of control.

Angry with himself he slammed his hands into the mattress, grimacing at the tightness in his chest.

* * *

**Monday, 8th February 2016**

Surprisingly, Elsie had found it relatively easy to slip back into her old routine. Back at work. Nothing to rush home for. Late nights and early mornings and ready-made meals. Perhaps it was sad, how easy shutting off her feelings had been, but then she'd had many years of practice at that. She could hide almost anything if need be and her feelings were pushed (stuffed, forced) right down to the pit of her stomach so to the outside world she was as she always was – stoic Elsie Hughes.

Anna was worried and she didn't want her to be. Her daughter was pregnant and needed no more added stress so she hadn't told her the full story, had glossed over it as nothing more than Charles needing time to recuperate and that was that.

Inside she'd died.

The worst part was she wasn't even that surprised. It was a condition of her life thus far that meant she always saw the worse side of things. She never expected the best so it was no surprise when the worst happened. And this was the worst.

Worse than being fucked continually for over twenty-five years. Worse than the physical pain of being held down. Worse than the humiliation of being made to do the things she'd had to do. Because her heart was involved this time and it never had been before.

Charles once told her, following their trip to Dubai, that love was a painful thing, and if this was what it brought he didn't want it. How she agreed with him now. The highs of their love, their joy at being together, conveniently forgotten when anger takes over. And she was so angry.

She pulled onto her drive after six thirty and there was a car parked by the front door. Seething she turned her engine off – Isobel – sitting at the wheel of the Jaguar (the very same one Charles had borrowed so long ago to take them out for the day).

They exited their vehicles simultaneously and Elsie hid for a moment fetching her school bags from the boot of hers.

"Hello Elsie," Isobel had said, nervously tugging her bag over her arm.

"I'm not sure I want to talk to you Isobel, and I'm sorry if that's rude but I don't wish to argue with you."

She marched past her, digging around in her handbag for her door keys.

"I'm not here to argue Elsie."

"Maybe not but I fear that's where it will end." She fussed as she tried to balance her bags and get the key in the door.

"Here, let me help." Isobel said, taking the key from her and turning it in the lock.

The door eased open and Elsie stepped in, stopping to enter the alarm code. "Don't worry," she said as she tapped on the keypad. "I'll start looking for somewhere to live at half term, I'm not going to fleece Charles for half of the house, if that's what you're worried about."

"It never entered my mind," Isobel said gently, still gripping her handbag.

Elsie looked at her for the first time, her eyes were wide, face pale.

"Are you leaving him then?" Isobel asked cautiously.

"I rather thought he left me. But then you'll know more about that than I do."

Isobel shook her head; "I haven't spoken to him since that Sunday when he called wanting Richard."

Elsie bit her lip, "I rather thought…" She swallowed, "I thought it was you who'd he discussed it with."

"Richard told me he wanted to borrow the house in Cornwall, that's it. And he was driving him down that afternoon."

Elsie felt her shoulders sag, her bags slip to the floor. "I'm sorry, I assumed…" She closed her eyes, why had Charles let her believe Isobel was involved?

"Men are clueless," Isobel stated, as if reading her mind. "And I know Charles."

"Better than me? That's what you mean."

"No. Just differently. Longer. I've known him longer, not better." She shrugged. "Shall we have a cup of tea, try to talk?"

Elsie nodded, though she had no idea if the milk she had was even in date.

"Go stay with him. Talk to him. Talk it through." Isobel said, stirring her tea.

"I'm not sure he wants me there." She shrugged, awkwardly sitting across from this woman who she'd had such doubts about for so long. "Sadly, I seem to be the last person he wants to talk to."

"That's not true. I don't believe that. You've heard from him?"

"He calls everyday." She said lightly. "When I'm at work, leaves a message on the machine telling me he's okay and what he's done." She closed her eyes briefly, she'd played every message searching for nuances of emotion, of a reveal as to where he was, where they were.

"Then you're fooling yourself if you think he doesn't want to see you."

"He talks to me of inane things, the weather, dogs he sees on the beach…" she shook her head. "It's like he calls because he feels he should."

"He calls because he wants to talk it through with you, because he misses you. Elsie, you know he loves you."

She twisted her engagement ring on her finger – love – as if that word could fix all woes. "I don't know what's happened." She admitted sadly, feeling almost ashamed by her lack of understanding.

"Call it shock. Call it some kind of post-accident stress. Mid-life worries. Being male – who knows."

"He's shut me out."

"I know."

"Then why on earth would he want me there? He's spoken to you about how he feels more than me, maybe you should be the one going to see him."

Isobel put her cup down lightly on the kitchen table. "Have you ever considered that the reason he didn't talk to you about how he feels is because he cares too much?"

"That's ridiculous."

"He doesn't know how to Elsie. He's never had to. He's never been as close to somebody as he is to you. Believe me, he's never wanted to impress somebody as much as he does you – I remember those first couple of months of dating he'd call me before every single date to go through his plans, so anxious to get it right, to please you."

"I don't need him to impress me, surely we're long past that. And I know this is rude and childish but I hate the fact he discusses me with you – I feel so self-conscious over it."

"He hasn't done it for a long time now, not since your engagement really." Isobel shrugged, "Men are strange beings Elsie. And Charles Carson… Well, you don't meet many men like him."

"None." She agreed.

"He's spent his life alone, you know, searching for something and all of a sudden it's finally here – and then this, a heart attack, a reminder that your time together is not the lifetime he wanted. Sometimes… you know he feels he's missed out on so much. He'd never reveal that to anyone. Never. But Richard and I have watched him through the years, been there, sometimes we worried the loneliness would kill him. Or worse, isolate him."

Elsie crossed her legs beneath the table, feeling a headache form, "I am trying to understand. I tried for weeks – constant bickering and shutting me out. Closing himself off." She laughed bitterly. "It's ironic isn't it, I do the very same thing, I did this in the beginning of our relationship, because letting him in was too hard. And now – he does the same to me."

"He won't know how to say what's in his head. Bloody hell in my experience men never do, my sons were terrible, bottling things away – at least my daughter would come and cry to me. And Charles… he didn't have a mother who he could easily discuss things with so he learnt to cope alone. And now you, you've made him a different person, given him a whole new lease of life…" She breathed deeply, watching Elsie's face, the red flush spreading from chest to cheeks, the doubtful expression.

"So," she searched in her bag, taking out a set of keys and sliding them across the table along with a small note. "I know you break up for half term soon, go see him. Here's the address, he'll likely be in the small cottage not the main house."

"Of course you'd have more than one bloody house down there," she quipped.

Isobel laughed, "You see, that's what Charles likes about you, you speak your mind, so go do just that."

* * *

**_Tears and fears and feeling proud, to say "I love you" right out loud,_**

**_dreams and schemes and circus crowds, I've looked at life that way._**

**_But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed._**

**_Well something's lost but something's gained in living every day._**

* * *

**Sunday, 14th March 2015**

Elsie was lying on her side facing the window, the bed sheet tucked between her thighs. Behind her an equally naked Charles pressed up against her, his head above hers on the pillow afforded him the vantage point of looking down at her. His face rested in the softness of her hair, inhaling the scent of it, though his senses were already overwhelmed with her scent – it filled the room that cold March morning.

Stretching one arm over hers his hand trailed down her arm that lay out before her on the bed. His fingers travelled the length, down, then back up, etching each freckle into his memory, committing to touch the bumps of tiny moles, the slightly grainy texture of a healing cut where she'd scratched her arm on a low hung branch whilst out walking.

Then down again, his eager hand sliding over hers, his large fingers dwarfing hers as they slid between them.

"So, what would you like to do today?" He said, breathing in her hair.

Her eyes slowly opened and she breathed deeply, he felt her chest expand, her back move.

"The walk maybe? The one we'd planned."

"I'm not sure I have the energy." She said quietly. "Hell of a week."

He kissed her head; she'd seemed out of sorts when he'd arrived the previous night. He hadn't pushed, with Elsie he'd learnt not to, she'd been more emotional since Christmas and he didn't understand why. The bottom line was – he'd decided one particularly depressing night whilst staring into his brandy glass – that he wanted to be with her. And if that meant crumbs, dating her once a week, then he was content to just go with it until whatever funk she'd descended into lifted. For some unfathomable reason he entertained this little idea that he might be the one to bring her out of it. Though if he reflected back on past relationship disasters he had no evidence to support his theory.

"Why?" He asked gently.

"Some issue with coursework," she sighed, glancing down to where his hand folded with hers, at how his fingers stroked hers repeatedly. "Reports of cheating by another colleague, so we all had to be scrutinised. They brought our department review forward by three weeks so it's observations, work scrutiny, task setting, our marking and feedback, the progress being made. Lots of stress – in a nutshell."

"And was this person cheating?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. I don't blame her if she was, the pressures can be tough to handle. But I'm exhausted."

"No walking then," he smiled lightly, turning her hand over, his thumb working circles in her palm. She watched as his fingers travelled lightly this time up the under side of her arm, her skin was paler there, the freckles, so abundant on the other side, were scarce, he touched her wrist, they both watched the beat beneath the skin.

"Why teaching?" He whispered, he'd asked before and she'd avoided it, turned it round to his career choices instead.

She closed her eyes, "I love my subject I suppose." She said, feeling rather lethargic. She wanted to ask him to spend the day in bed with her and worship her body over and over again as he just had only minutes ago. "I've always been interested in History – hence all these trips to old houses I keep making you do." She smiled a little, "Maybe that's what we could do today, another old house."

He resisted commenting, he wanted to hear about her choices, didn't want to take her focus from his question.

For a while they were quiet, she watched as he repeatedly stroked her arm, she flexed her fingers and his came down to fold with hers again and she spoke.

"When I was at school – and I'm not being big-headed here, believe me – I think I was fairly smart. I was sharp, savvy, I liked to learn. But I didn't look the part. I was from a working class background, maybe even low working class. My hair was often tangled and flyaway, my clothes were hand-me-downs and I often went to school smelling of manure following the morning rounds."

She smiled and he allowed himself to do the same.

"I was ignored." She drew in a tight breath, "I mean what did that little girl matter? She'd be a farmer, marry a farmer, bear him many children. Why did she need an education? Much more valuable to focus on those who were easy to progress, those of a better class, a better background." She didn't voice it but in her mind she thought, 'people like you Charles, people who speak the way they're meant to.'

"And so I guess I thought wouldn't it be good if I could help just one little girl who was like me? Show her there's more to life. Of course it's not nearly as romantic as that."

She paused again, closing her eyes, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her skin – open adoration.

"Sometimes I think about that little girl's dreams – the way we see the world at that age, marriage and children and love and a nice house, all those things. I wonder what happened to her dreams. Because suddenly you're in your fifties and looking back and thinking 'god, what did I do with my life.' Of course she seems a million miles away from me now."

She turned her hand over, flat on the bed and his lay on top of hers. Lifting her fingers she pressed the tips to his and he did the same, measuring, comparing.

"Your hands dwarf mine." She said, and he closed his hand around hers as if to emphasise her point.

"Tell me one of her dreams, the little girl." His voice was so low, so full of warmth and care.

She closed her eyes, smiling indulgently, "Why? Are you going to make it come true?"

"Maybe I'll try."

He kissed her shoulder, the back of her neck and she twisted her head round, meeting his mouth very briefly and then sliding her arms around him until he drew her into a tight hug.

"Perhaps she just wanted to be held by someone who didn't want anything from her." She murmured against his skin.

He opened his mouth to speak then stopped himself – he did want something from her, he wanted her to want to be held by him and nobody else. Always.

"Goodness," she said eventually, disentangling herself from him. "How maudlin I am this morning." She tapped her hands on his shoulders. "I'm sorry. This winter weather brings my mood low."

"Not long until our trip. Couple of weeks and then plenty of sunshine."

"I'm looking forward to that. I can't quite imagine it being warm and sunny elsewhere in the world when it's so bloody miserable here."

"I'm looking forward to spending time with you," he wanted to add, 'not just seeing you once a week' but he bit his tongue.

"Hmm, an entire week with me, you may change your mind. I can be difficult you know."

He raised his eyebrows, "Compared to me?"

Smiling she rolled out of his arms and lay on her back stretching, her eyes focussed on the ceiling, he wondered what was going through her head, what had distracted her. But as soon as the expression had come upon her face it had gone again and she got up quickly, reaching for her dressing gown.

"Come on, get up, I'm going to take you out for breakfast. Somewhere nice. And you can have one of those big English breakfast things you like."

He patted his tummy, for some unfathomable reason not in the slightest concerned about lying naked in front of her. "This is why I have this."

"Oh, but I rather like it."

It was small steps, barely even visible, but to him it felt like she was beginning to open up.

* * *

**Friday, 12th February 2016**

Charles had spent the majority of the day walking. His arm was free (at long last) and the removal of the plaster cast had not only lessened the weight he carried on his arm but gave him some sort of hope. His ribs had healed well too, his bruises long gone, only the scar remained – a pinkish cruel line now that inched its way down his chest.

He avoided touching it when he took a shower. Avoided looking.

Time marched on and he counted every day he was away from Elsie. Finding reasons to leave messages on their answer machine, delighting in the sound of her voice when he called it. He recalled hearing her voice that first time in his shop, by the door with her scarf trapped and her ridiculous expression of shock. He heard her voice at night when he laid down to sleep, words of love, promises, the first time she'd told him she loved him – when he stood on the beach and looked out to sea he could visualize it again. How she felt in his arms, the way she'd blushed as she'd said it. And there, in the damned airport, 'marry me' and all his dreams coming to him at once.

It felt so lonely without her there.

There were too many things in his head, too many things he couldn't say, didn't have the words for. It was easier to be alone, he'd decided.

He trampled over the rough winter earth, up on the cliff edge looking over the southern coast. The battering of the sea upon the rocks, the emptiness of the coves. How it had always been, how it always would be. England. His second love, he realised. He smiled as he recalled Kate Bush and whilst alone and isolated up there said the words aloud, 'Oh England, my lion heart. I'm in your garden, fading fast in your arms.' To him there was nothing more beautiful, he'd travelled, enjoyed it, but coming home to this land, green and pleasant, it was part of his soul, like coming home to Elsie.

Closing his eyes he allowed the coarse winds to whip past him, leaving his skin chapped and raw.

He turned for home when the rain started, and made it back soaking but refreshed, washed clean by the familiarity of it.

The door key was in his trouser pocket and he was fiddling in there when he walked the steps to the front of the beach house, not noticing the car parked haphazardly on the gravel strip to the left of the small building until he was upon it.

He stopped and stared, rain battered and exhausted, and there she was, sitting in her car staring back at him.

He felt his heart beat.

* * *

_**I've looked at life from both sides now,**_

_**from win and lose, and still somehow**_

_**it's life's illusions I recall.**_

_**I really don't know life at all.**_

* * *

_I made myself cry at the end of this one – and I knew this was all going to happen…Spent 4 hours in a coffee shop today writing this to get it up quick for you, hope the 'feels' are doing okay Brenna! X_


	44. Chapter 44

_**This was surprisingly difficult to write. I've been working on bits of it for weeks now but trying to bring it all together following the previous two chapters has been tough. There's a lot of back and forth here as the characters both have these wildly fluctuating emotions towards one another and I've tried to handle that and balance it as well as I could whilst maintaining the 'real relationship' that I've aimed for throughout. I know not all of the questions have been answered but they still have a way to go.**_

_**Come on people – if you know me, you know that I HAD to have a Mariah moment didn't I... So the theme of this chapter is summed up in the track Whenever You Call (1997) if you'd like to listen.**_

* * *

_Love wandered inside_

_Stronger than you_

_Stronger than I_

_And now that it has begun_

_We cannot turn back_

_We can only turn into one_

**Chapter 44**

**Friday 12th February 2016**

Theoretically, from her vantage point Elsie could see down the hill and towards the path below, meaning she'd spot Charles before he did her, giving her time to prepare. But the rain – casual and light for the past hour of her journey – was now blinding, streaming down her windscreen and distorting her view.

She'd set off as soon as work finished, packing the evening before and leaving her travel bag in the boot of her car. Once she'd resolved to go down and visit him that was it. There were things that they needed to discuss face-to-face, Isobel was right about that. She was surprised to find the beach house empty, though there were signs it had been lived in, in fact when she peered through the patio windows it looked downright messy – not like him at all.

She had the key Isobel had given her but somehow it felt odd to be invading his space, so she sat in her car and waited.

She was typing a text to Beryl on her phone before she realised he was there. And then the background noise faded away and she was staring at him.

Sometimes, it annoyed her that Charles remembered so many little details of their relationship which she didn't – their first meeting, what they'd done for their first ten dates – but this moment she knew she'd always remember. Just as she had that moment she'd walked into his hospital room and saw him looking so small, so fragile, it had shocked her, she could admit that. But now he looked whole and complete and she ached with how much she'd missed him.

He seemed to stare at her for an eternity, the rain pouring down his face, and then he walked directly past the car and unlocked the door to the house, disappearing inside.

She gripped the car door handle, bracing herself, '_get out of the car Elsie, get out of the bloody car.'_

Then he was there, by the driver's door, holding a coat above his head and waiting for her to get out. She joined him beneath the coat and they dashed inside shaking off the excess water in the hallway.

"You came here…" he stated, at a loss, sopping wet and in shock.

"Izzy gave me a key but I felt…" she swallowed, looking up to meet his gaze, "I felt awkward just letting myself in."

He nodded, limbs suddenly gangly and unresponsive. "It's a long drive to do after work."

"It was fine, not too busy."

He nodded again, wondering how to continue this stunted conversation. "Tea?" He finally offered, the answer to all questions.

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll… look, just…" he led her through to the lounge, making as if to touch her arm but carefully avoiding doing so. He bent to reinvigorate the dwindling fire and she stood feeling like a spare part as she watched him. "It's warmer in here, dry off, I'll go make the tea."

She thought it ridiculous that he was telling her to dry off when he was soaked from head-to-toe, but she let him go, he clearly needed a moment, maybe she did too – the space to breathe.

The sound of the rain seemed amplified by the daintiness of the cottage, the thin roof, the closeness to the sea. She watched through the patio doors as it bounced up from the floor, almost knee height, and behind that the sea raging into shore, high tide and high winds and lightning cracking over in the distance.

When he came back in with a tray she was sitting on the edge of the couch watching the storm outside and he reflected on how glad he was she'd made it off the motorway before this kicked in.

"Here," he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table. "I didn't have any decaff I'm afraid."

"That's fine."

He went to pour but it was still weak so he put the teapot down and stood feeling uncomfortable as he waited for it to brew, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Charles." She said, turning her face up to look at him. "Do you think we might pretend we're not strangers?"

He looked to the carpet, shook his head and smiled, "This _feels_ strange."

"Very." She sat back a little, realising she was still in her coat, still in her work clothes. "Look I didn't come here to make you feel uncomfortable or put pressure on you. I'm not about to get on my knees and embarrass either of us by begging for anything."

He was holding his breath, watching how the wet curls of hair dripped down her face, following the track of the rain along her neck.

"But I felt that we need to do this face-to-face…" She paused, breathing deeply, "And we do need to do this."

"Yes." His voice sounded odd, detached, like it wasn't really his.

"Is that it?"

"The tea will be done." He set to pouring again.

"Bugger the tea Charles," she whispered and he looked up sharply at her.

"I don't know what to say to you." He finally mumbled.

She glanced away, tilted her chin to where a giant teddy bear sat in the corner of the room eyeing them, a huge yellow bow around its neck. "What's this about? Doesn't strike me as a decorative feature Richard and Isobel would choose."

He smiled, digging his hands in his pockets again, "No. I bought a present for the baby."

"Oh goodness Charles," she breathed, tears filling her eyes. "Why do you…?"

He frowned, a dark feeling in his gut. "Shouldn't I have?"

She got to her feet, moving cautiously around the coffee table and gripping his upper arms as she pulled him into a hug.

"Of course you should." She whispered, biting her lip to stop herself from crying.

He stood rigid, afraid to touch her, afraid he'd crumple if he did and never find himself again.

"Are you staying?' He asked, kicking himself as soon as the words had left his lips, he felt her push back from his body, her hands still resting lightly on his forearms. "What I mean is… there's only one bedroom…I suppose this sofa might be one of those things that opens out…I prefer it here than the house, it's cosy and the view is great but its small and…"

"Charles," she said, the hint of a smile on her face, he was still so endearing at times, despite everything. "I would think we were more than capable of sharing a bed. I'm hardly going to jump you, I can control myself."

_There'd be no point anyhow_, he reflected bitterly.

"Ah, yes, we're… I didn't know if you'd be comfortable is all."

She folded her arms defensively, "I am if you are."

"I haven't been sleeping well, I don't want to disturb you."

"Do you want me to go find a hotel?"

"What? No, of course not. I mean I take these long walks everyday to tire myself out, and I'm getting better, my endurance, the pain in my ribs is subsiding but I still lie awake at night staring at the ceiling." He tapped the side of his head. "Can't turn this off."

She wanted to hold him and take it all away but she kept a slight distance between them as she searched his face. "It won't bother me." She finally said.

"Good," he nodded. "Good, so I'll er, take your bag in. Is it in the car?"

"In the boot. I'll go."

"No, I'm already soaking anyhow."

"Alright," she dug her car keys out of her handbag and handed them across to him, listening as he returned out into the storm to fetch her travel bag – how odd it was, feeling like they were back at the beginning.

Nevertheless, now that she was here the nerves were dissipating and Elsie's famed practicality was taking over. She wasn't about to let this all just disappear in a few harsh words and difficult moments. They'd been through worse – she had – and if there was a glimmer of hope she was going to draw it out.

He was in her heart now, in her blood, she couldn't just let that go.

She drank her tea.

* * *

_I won't ever be too far away to feel you_

_And I won't hesitate at all_

_Whenever you call_

_And I'll always remember_

_The part of you so tender_

_I'll be the one to catch your fall_

_Whenever you call_

* * *

Standing in the bedroom Elsie reflected on how well she knew Charles – in her eyes he was a bit of a neat freak. Yes, alright, his book shop had been clumsy and old fashioned, but his flat had been organised, everything had its place, and at their house he was the same. In the days when he would sleep over at her apartment she'd lie in bed watching as he folded his trousers just so before jumping in with her. It had always amused her.

So to be standing in a bedroom that he'd inhabited for two weeks and finding it untidy was something of a shock. The bed was unmade, crumpled, pillows stacked together at the side facing the window. There were clothes piled up on a chair in the corner, open drawers, signs of him living there. She'd never expected him to be untidy, especially not when a guest in someone else's home. It was so very unlike him – just as days spent unshaven and watching daytime television were unlike him.

She emptied her bag out on the bed and hung the few dresses she'd brought with her, it wasn't until she was shoving her underwear into a drawer that she realised in her haste to pack she'd actually forgotten to include any kind of bed wear or something comfortable to wear in an evening around the cottage. Though she had no idea how long she'd be there – one night, two?

Embarrassed she made her way back down the hall into the kitchen, Charles was changed and looked much more comfortable in thick socks and loose trousers, his damp hair slicked back but drying.

"Can I help?" She asked, standing by the door watching him chop vegetables and then kicking herself for saying it – she'd promised herself she'd go down there and not try to interfere or smother him. Though he looked considerably better than the last time she'd seen him, standing in their kitchen telling her he was leaving – the memory of it made her catch her breath.

"No it's alright. We're having fish, I got it from just down the road this morning so it's fresh as can be."

"Sounds good." She shifted from one foot to the other and he glanced over his shoulder at her.

"You've not changed. Wasn't your shirt damp?"

"Well I er… I kinda forgot to pack something comfortable," she felt her cheeks reddening. "I was wondering if perhaps you had a jumper or something. I could put my jeans on I guess."

He opened his mouth, stared at her for a moment dumbfounded, then he brushed his hands on the towel as logic kicked in. "Of course, I'll find you something."

She stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom staring at herself in Charles' oversized winter jumper – if it was "a bit big" on him then on her it resembled something of a giant's shirt. She tugged it down, it rested a few inches over her knees and despite the fact he'd not only seen her naked but in all manner of positions naked she still felt self-conscious. The arms looped about her and she rolled the material up out of the way.

At least she'd remembered socks. The walking socks he'd bought for her birthday only a year earlier. She pulled them to her knees, thought she looked ridiculous, so pushed them back down to her ankles.

"Elsie, dinner's ready." He called – no more hiding.

Timidly she made her way back to the kitchen, finding he was pouring her a glass of white wine and a tiny taste of it for himself.

"This looks very good…" she said, taking a seat – _very healthy_ is what she wanted to add but bit her tongue.

"Had to make it stretch a bit."

"Oh, you can have some of my vegetables if you haven't enough," she offered.

He smiled, picking up his cutlery, "It's fine, thanks for asking."

"This is silly isn't it," she said as she ground pepper onto her fish. "Feeling like we can't talk to one another, after everything."

"Yeah." He chewed on his fish and reached for his wine. "You got my messages?"

"Every one," she said softly, "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to respond."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk to me."

She breathed deeply, "You hardly gave me a chance, ringing when you knew me to be at work."

"Yeah well… coward's way."

"You're far from a coward Charles."

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, until Elsie had finished and sat back watching him, sipping her wine and feeling very tired.

"I am sorry though," she said, needing to say the words, "That you felt I was smothering you. I didn't mean to make things so difficult."

His brain seemed to lose functionality and he struggled to find anything of suitable response in his vocabulary, "Thank you for that." Was all he mumbled.

She frowned, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched him eat, _how had they grown so far apart?_ "I wanted to come here to give you this…" she said gently, easing the engagement ring off of her finger and placing it down in front of him.

His mind screamed. Voice froze.

"It didn't seem right to just… leave it somewhere or post it… it's too valuable."

"I wanted you to have it." _What did this mean? That she didn't want to marry him after all?_

"Yes but that was before…"

"Before what?" He interrupted, mind racing.

"You left me Charles."

His brow furrowed, like a child lost in the mistakes of their own causing.

She shrugged, "You walked out. You walked away."

"Yes but…"

Her eyes were wide, "But?"

"That doesn't mean. Does it?"

She shook her head, "I had to cancel the church."

"What? Why?!"

"Because the vicar kept calling, we'd missed our sessions, and it got too hard to lie."

"So you cancelled it?"

"What choice did I have? For all I knew you were gone and we were over."

"I never said that."

"You never said we weren't."

"I said I needed space."

"We're not bloody seventeen year olds having a domestic in the park – I need my space. We're meant to be adults in an adult relationship. And you walked out on it. On me."

He threw his napkin to the table.

"I want to get married in that church."

"What right have we got to get married – we can't even communicate without arguing. I've only been here an hour and we're shouting at each other."

He puffed his chest out; his face set in a grimace, and leant back in his chair.

"Well, I guess that's the end of that conversation then." She stated, getting to her feet. "I'll do the dishes."

He caught hold of her wrist as she passed him, "Put the ring back on."

"Why Charles?"

He looked up at her, so close, so much everything he'd ever wanted. "Because…" his face softened, his heart leapt from one beat to the next. "Because I love you."

She felt her face crumple, tears ease down her cheeks, "You have a bloody funny way of showing it."

Easing her wrist from his grasp she filled the sink, happy to have the water scolding as she washed up.

Charles must have left the kitchen at some point because when she turned back to get his plate from the table he'd gone. The ring still sat there and shakily she picked it up, there was no pocket to hide it in, and the symbolism of putting it back on without him was too much – so she stood on her tiptoes and placed it on the shelf above the table, high up. Out of direct sight.

She refilled her wine glass, then noting his on the table and realising he wouldn't have anymore, she tipped it away and made more tea, taking it through to the lounge.

It was still raining out, thunder rolling above them, and she had a vague silly idea of waking to find they'd floated away – this little house bobbing about on the ocean. She smiled at her own ridiculousness as she sat beside him on the sofa and handed him his tea.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He sipped the hot liquid, and she knew he'd burnt his tongue as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, resting it on the cushions behind him.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked gently, her feet tucked beneath her, consciously tugging the jumper over her knees.

"Why not." His eyes were still closed and she thought how weary he sounded, how tired he looked, she saw it now, these days of interrupted and unsettled sleep were showing in his face.

"Why did you let me think Isobel had organised this? Brought you here? Was it to hurt me?"

His head shot up, eyes wide, "What? No!" He shook his head, "I hadn't realised I had done that."

"You said you'd spoken to Isobel… called her…"

"I called her earlier that week to tell her not to come over trying to look after me." He licked his lips, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I may have told her… I may have ranted a bit about not needing a nurse."

"Did you think that's what I was doing?"

He shrugged, "I understand why. And I knew I was being difficult and ugly… I just didn't want it. I don't. I've never been useless Elsie, always fended for myself, something of a revelation to find I can't."

Her fingers itched to touch him, "I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I only wanted to take care of you."

"I know."

"You would have done the same, wouldn't you, if it were me."

And this time he did touch her, his hand eagerly leaving his cup to grasp her knee, his thick jumper closing over her skin beneath his palm. "I don't ever want to think of you being hurt. Never."

She allowed herself a small smile, "That doesn't answer my question."

He nodded, swallowed, rubbed the spot of exposed skin of her leg with his thumb, "I wouldn't have left you alone for a second."

For a moment or two they sat like that, holding the other's gaze and then he groaned painfully, let go of her leg, his head rolling back on the sofa again. "God, why is this so hard?"

She wasn't sure they should do this on their first night together, in her mind she'd planned to give it a while before they got into the mess of pulling this apart, untangling all the misunderstandings and painful words. But then things had never gone the way Elsie had planned, never.

"You need to talk to me." She said shakily. "I can't understand if you don't talk to me."

He closed his eyes tightly at her words, searching his brain – where to start, what to say?

"There's a lovely café on a great spot on this stretch of beach," he finally said. "Great views. Nice coffee. I'll take you tomorrow."

Breathing deeply she briefly closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her and ebb away.

"Alright."

* * *

_And I'm truly inspired_

_Finding my soul_

_There in your eyes_

_And you_

_Have opened my heart_

_And lifted me inside_

_By showing me yourself_

_Undisguised_

* * *

Charles was polite enough to give Elsie time to prepare for bed first. She removed her makeup, tied up her hair and stood in the jumper wondering what the bloody hell she was going to do – she feared if she slept in the thing she'd strangle herself.

So, she found the vest top she'd worn under her shirt for work and put that on with her knickers. Surely it would do right enough.

The pillows he'd been using were piled up and she shared them equally between their spots, pulling the quilt and the extra two blankets he'd put on top over her as she lay down. Twisting onto her side she faced the window and looked out to the sea, calm now it seemed following the passing of the storm.

Her eyes were closed when Charles came in, and he crept as silently as he could and slipped in beside her, keeping a discreet distance between them. He stared at her back, at the spot where her vest finished and her skin was a slightly different shade, vague memories of tan lines still evident.

He knew she was still awake, could tell by her breathing, they'd slept together long enough for him to know each and every move she'd make.

"I've been thinking about the kitten names." He said softly, his voice deep and thick in the darkness.

She opened her eyes, blinking at the light offered by the window, surprised by the topic, "Oh?"

"I rather liked Shake and Speare. What do you think?"

Her laugh was muffled against her pillow. "I like the sentiment. But imagine standing on the doorstep shouting 'Shake, Shake.'" She chuckled again and heard him do the same behind her.

"Who'd hear?"

"True." She tucked a hand beneath her cheek tilting her face up a bit more so she could speak easier. "I like William though, for the boy."

He felt like they were choosing baby names, not something as simple as names for their – _their?_ – cats. "William's good. And the girl – Mary maybe? Indulge your historian."

She smiled, "Elizabeth."

"Tudor."

"Old house?"

"Are we playing word association?"

"Are we?" She smiled, "Mary's okay. William and Mary. Could be Mary Shelley you see too, fits both of us."

"Better than something as inane as Twinkle or Glitter."

"I was rather hoping you'd choose Starburst or something equally as wonderful. Thomas suggested Diva and Sass."

"Ha!" He flexed his fingers on the pillow behind her head, touching the ends of her hair. "You've seen him?" He said more seriously.

"I have."

He swallowed, feeling uncomfortable again, how were they all judging his behaviour now? Probably thought the old guy had lost it. "And did he have anything to say?"

"He had plenty to say, as you can very well imagine. Though most of it is unrepeatable, littered with four letter words." Her head felt heavy, fatigue creeping in.

Charles was silent for a while, taking her words on board. He twirled his little finger into her hair, she didn't seem to notice, didn't seem to feel it. "Do they all hate me?"

She twisted her head over and he snatched his hand back, "What? No, of course not."

He blinked in the dark, etching out the edges of her profile in the dimness, "Does Anna?"

"No." She turned onto her back so she could see him better. "You mustn't worry about that, I told Anna you were recuperating, I didn't want to worry her." She bit her lip, if they were going to get anywhere they needed to be honest with each other. "I told Beryl though."

He nodded, pursing his lips, "I'd expect that."

"She didn't. I rather shocked her."

"In what way?"

She moved her head on the pillow, aware of his gaze never leaving her face, "It's embarrassing – I've never cried so much before…" She looked up at him, "You know I don't reveal my emotions so easily, I learnt not to when I was very young." She shrugged, "Not even with Joe. But then that's part of the problem, isn't it?"

"I'd never judge you for that, your childhood, Joe… You know that."

"No, but that's not what I meant. I mean that perhaps you left because you were tired of having to deal with my mess, my emotional issues. I feel…" she closed her eyes, turning the words over in her mouth as she tried to find a way to empty her head of them. "I fear, not feel. I fear maybe it got too much, got too hard, always waiting for me to catch up with you. My moods. The counselling. I've not been an easy person to deal with."

He tentatively rested a hand on her hip above the sheets, "None of that mattered. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change my feelings for you."

"But something did."

He drew back a little, she was too close and he was too tired.

"It's alright. I've pretty much accepted that…"

"Accepted what?"

"That you don't want this anymore, us, me."

"Elspeth…" He breathed, pressing his hand heavily on her hip now. "That's so far from the truth it's painful. I want you more than anything in this world."

"Then why…?" Her voice faded as she felt herself moving close to tears again. "God what a mess." She covered her face with her hand. "What a mess."

Charles drew his hand from her hip and up her back, until she leant forward and pressed her face into his chest. He fell naturally onto his back and she curled up against him, her arm tight around his waist.

"Is this okay?" She whispered against his skin.

"Yes." He breathed, closing his eyes.

He lay there still and silent, almost afraid of breaking the moment, listening to her breathing, the weight of her body against his, the scent of her hair. All so familiar. All so wonderful.

"I've missed you," he finally said, but she was already asleep.

* * *

**Saturday, 13th February 2016**

When Elsie awoke she'd forgotten where she was. Gasping and blinking at the ceiling as her mind tried to search for recognition. And then slowly the sound of sea crashing to shore and the steady breathing of Charles by her ear reminded her.

She was lying on her back, Charles' arm heavy as it rested on her stomach and his chin tucked by her shoulder, breath light on her skin.

For a long time she watched him, brushed his hair back – curled and fluffy after sleep – and wondered once again what the hell was going on between them.

Part of her could gladly throttle him for putting her through the past few weeks. Yet there was another part of her that longed to have him back, for things to be as they were, his open love and adoration for her, although once overwhelming, was now her biggest source of strength. Perhaps that was the issue; she feared that she'd kept him at arm's length for so long that now it was just a little too late.

Maybe he was bored – the bitter side of her brain argued that for men it was all about the chase, well he had her now, maybe the thrill had gone. In the beginning they'd do anything to have you, then once they did things were never the same.

But then she looked at him and she remembered that quiet, timid man. In so many ways old-fashioned, stuck in his ways, like some immovable object that everyone else walked around, the world turned around. And he remained. And then he was so very different. So kind. So patient. So eager to travel and explore new things and share it all with her. To share their thoughts and feelings and bodies and lives. To change his shop, after years of it remaining the same, because she'd suggested it. So open to loving her and Anna no matter how long he'd known them or what had happened in their lives. And she didn't want to lose him. Whatever his doubts were, whatever fears he had, they'd simply have to get to the bottom of them and then start climbing their way back up together.

When her neck ached too much to remain in that position she edged out of the bed, taking her jeans with her and changing in the bathroom down the hall. She made tea and was standing in the lounge sipping it when it started to rain again, instant heavy drops coming in without warning.

The room around her was in need of a good clean and with nothing else to do until Charles woke up that's exactly what she set about doing.

She tidied away old papers, put Charles' clothes in the washing machine, mopped the floors, cleaned the sides, cleared out the fridge. Somehow she even managed to tiptoe around the bedroom and put away his piles of clothes without waking him.

When he finally emerged, head heavy from sleep, and stumbled into the kitchen she was ironing and for a moment or two he watched her, puzzled.

"You hate to iron," he finally said, disturbing her daydreams.

"Well, good morning sleepy, thought you'd be in there all day."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm glad you slept, you look better for it."

"First proper sleep I've had in forever." He eased himself into a chair. "So, ironing?" He said, then glanced about. "Have you cleaned?"

"I have indeed."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know I didn't. But I've done it now." She stood the iron up, watching as the steam spread out across the room. "Would you like me to make you some breakfast," she glanced at the clock, "early lunch?"

He rubbed his face, "I know it may be surprising Elsie but I have in fact managed to look after myself for the past two weeks. Even with one arm for most of it."

Her face fell and he watched as her body sagged, hands still folding the shirt she'd just pressed.

"Sorry," he said, guilt like a hot poker in his chest. "I don't mean to snap."

"Seems you can't help but snap." She switched off the iron. "Remember in Dubai Charles, how awful I was to you, how cruel, you know I did that to push you away because it was easier than dealing with how deeply I cared for you. How scary it was to fall in love for the first time at my age."

He stared at the floor, avoiding her gaze.

"Are you doing the same? Is this some sort of ironic circle of events? Give me a taste of my own medicine?"

"Don't be silly." He looked at her again; standing close to him now, so close he could curl his arms around her legs and pull her into his lap. "I don't know what this is. But I don't seek to intentionally hurt you. And I'm sorry that I do."

"Okay."

He reached a hand forward, brushing his knuckles across her stomach, unable to feel her through the thick jumper.

"I mean it Els…I don't know what's wrong with me, what's going on."

She nodded, briefly resting her hand on top of his. "That's the first time you've called me Els in weeks."

He looked up at her, a weak smile on his face.

She snuffled, "So, do you want breakfast or not? Because I'm starving."

"Sure."

"Good." She lifted the pile of ironing into her arms. "I'll just pop these away then see what we have, and don't think you're off the hook Mr Carson. You and I have got some serious emotional baggage to claw our way through."

"You seem different this morning."

"I'm not going anywhere Charles if that's what you think. So don't even think of behaving like a man and hoping this will all just disappear. You're going to have to talk to me at some point. Sooner rather than later if I have anything to do with it."

* * *

The rain lifted long enough for them to get out early afternoon and for Charles it couldn't come soon enough. He needed the harshness of the bracing wind and the dampness of the earth around him, the smell of it, to shake the heavy feeling that had settled in him that morning.

It wasn't that he wanted to be apart from her, he wanted her with him, he just didn't want to be trapped staring at the same four walls going round in circles having the same conversation.

"This spot," he said, stopping and waiting for her to catch up behind him. "Look at the view from here."

Elsie shivered inside her coat, pulling her scarf higher up beneath her chin as she joined him overlooking the rolling sea.

"Something different isn't there, being here this time of year."

"Mmm…" She watched him as he leant his head back, eyes closed, letting the icy wind wash over him. "Have you been anywhere else Charles, over the past two weeks?"

"Just walking. Here. The cliffs."

She turned and looked up the cliffs towering over them, "So you haven't spent time with any human beings then?"

He opened his eyes, twisting his neck to look at her. "What's that mean?"

She shrugged, "Just an observation."

"You know me. Rather be alone than mingle."

"I thought that was the old you."

"As opposed to the Charles that was with you, right? Maybe he was just pretend, just playing a role for a while."

"So, what, we've been a lie? You have?"

He shook his head, "That's not what I meant. God, you're making me say things I don't mean."

"How am I making you do anything Charles? I'm not some fucking magician…"

"I didn't mean that," he brushed his hand through his hair, "Lord, we only just got here and we're arguing again. Can we have a moment of peace?"

"Sure." She walked away from him, digging her hands in her pockets, "sure, why the hell not." She danced from foot-to-foot.

"What's wrong now?" He asked, noting her pained expression.

"I really need to pee." She said squirming. "Like embarrassingly badly need to pee."

"We're in the middle of the beach." He stated, looking around.

"A-ha, and the sea isn't helping."

"For goodness sake."

"I can hardly help it, you don't have to be like this with me…"

"I'm not!" He breathed deeply, when had it all become so damned hard? "Sorry. I'm sorry."

She bit her lip, crossed her legs, wrapped her arms around herself, and he thought how beautiful she looked, her scarf framing her face, escaped locks of hair blowing in the breeze.

"You're laughing!" She exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, holding his hands up, unable to stop. "Sometimes I feel like I've dated your bladder."

She tried to suppress her smile as she slapped his arm, "Stop it."

"Alright, alright. Okay, look…" He gripped her shoulder, looking around them. "Look there's a cave there, nip inside, there's nobody about, should be okay."

"Oh god, like a child." But she was too desperate to really care how she appeared, and it was only Charles, as if he'd judge her on that. She ran the short distance from the shore to the cave and disappeared inside.

Charles meandered around waiting for her, glad the rain had held off at least. It was damp and cold and they were wrapped up like Christmas decorations but at least they'd got out for a bit, it didn't seem at all healthy for the pair of them to just sit and stew in that house.

He smiled when he spotted the Springer Spaniel dashing towards him, jumping in and out of the water as it ran and splashing the bottom of his trousers.

"Hey missy," he said, bending to ruffle its ears. "Hello, how are you then? Are you excited to be out?" He glanced up as Maisie's owner joined them. "Hello. Caroline, right?"

"Right. And Charles."

"Yeah."

"Not paddling today?"

"Think I've had my fair share of frozen toes for the moment."

She laughed, "Are you heading up to the café again? We were just going to get a scone and have a warm before we head back."

Stuffing her hands into her pockets Elsie hurried from the cave and back down the beach towards where she'd left Charles, feeling slightly better than when she'd embarrassingly ran off from him.

She spotted him laughing with a woman, blonde, petite, and for a second she felt how she had all that time ago at the cricket club when greeted with the knowledge that Charles had quite the fan club.

They turned to face her before she reached them, the younger woman smiling warmly, Charles blushing furiously.

"Oh, you must be Charles' wife, I wondered if you'd join him for half term, he mentioned you were a teacher."

_His wife?_

"Did he." She dug her hand out of her pocket and accepted Caroline's to shake. "He hasn't mentioned you I'm afraid." She said pointedly.

"Well, nothing to mention. I introduced him to the café up the beach."

"Ahh, well that he did mention, good coffee there so he said."

"Great scones." Caroline smiled. "We're heading up there now, aren't we Maisie girl." She slapped her leg and the dog chased after her, "Nice to meet you though, and good to see you again Charles."

"Yes. And you."

He knew the expression on her face before she even looked at him.

"What?" He asked innocently.

"Doesn't like to mingle." She said bitterly. "No. But clearly flirting is okay."

"Oh its hardly that, we've spoken once."

"Funny that little bit of information never came up on your fucking messages, did it?"

"You're being hysterical. I've spoken to her once before."

"Am I?" She folded her arms, "Tell me Charles, if I'd left you, gone to stay somewhere five hours drive away, and then conveniently met a gorgeous young man and told you nothing about it would you be hunky fucking dory about it?"

He glanced to floor, feeling shame fill his stomach.

"Talk to me." She demanded. "Tell me what's going on with you. This isn't you. It's not the man I know, or thought I did, though apparently he's been a mask…"

He turned his back to hear, breathing deeply the cold air.

"Charles! Damn it!" She realised that if anyone passed by they would take her for a child throwing a tantrum and that wasn't her, she didn't lose control like this. "Oh forget it, forget it. I'm going home."

"Home?"

"Yorkshire Charles," she said marching past him. "Apparently to find a new place to live."

"Don't be so bloody stupid." He said, hurrying after her.

"Stupid? I think I'm being perfectly logical."

"To move out of our new home. That's stupid. Over nothing."

She swung round to face him, "Nothing? How can all this be nothing? I don't know where I am with you."

"I'm right here Elsie."

"Are you?" She shook her head, snuffling as she stared across the beach at him. When he didn't respond she turned on her heel and headed back to the beach house.

Charles followed at a slower pace. Exhausted.

* * *

"You shouldn't have raced off," he said weakly, watching her throw her clothes into a bag. "You should have stayed and let me take you for tea."

"Sod your tea, go have it with the blonde. Wait – the young blonde – do what every other man does, trade in. Calling me your wife to her, what's that about?" She muttered.

"You're being ridiculous, nothing's happened, I don't know her. We had an hour together maximum and…"

She stopped. "And?"

"Nothing."

"Don't do that!" She threw a shoe onto the bed. "Talk to me! Tell me, whatever it is. Because I can't keep doing this Charles – I hate how you're making me feel."

"How am I making you feel?"

"Like this is all my fault, like I did something wrong. Messed us up. It's all my insecurities causing this and it can't be, it can't be because you're the one bottling things away and I don't know why."

"No, no," he shook his head, "I agree. This is purely me."

"Why?" She yelled in frustration when he looked away. "WHY?! Charles! What happened with that woman?"

"I dreamt of her, okay, I dreamt of her being here and doing… well… oral… and it's bloody ridiculous because only one woman has ever done that for me and that's you, of course, you're the only one I've ever been close enough to feel comfortable enough with and… and what does it matter because I can't even, you know?"

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to getting so much information in one go, or what to focus on. "Okay." She sat down on the side of the bed, her back to him. "Okay. Let me get this straight… you dreamt of this woman giving you a blow job, correct?"

"Yes."

"And do you want her to?"

"No. Never."

She almost laughed at his disgusted tone. "Okay. And I'm assuming you mean that you…" she bit her lip, glancing up at him, "…that you're having trouble in that department."

"Nothing since the accident."

"Okay."

"Not even when I woke up from the dream."

She raised her eyebrows, "Well, that's something I guess."

"I feel a failure."

"Because you can't get an erection?"

"Don't mock it, it's a sensitive issue for men."

"It doesn't make you less of a man."

"It does in my eyes."

"That's…" she was about to say foolish then stopped herself, what did she know about man's pride and how their minds worked. She had all on following Charles' train of thought at the moment.

"I wish you'd just told me," she settled on. "You don't have to deal with all this yourself. That's why we're a team isn't it, to be there for one another."

"I didn't know how to…"

"And if you could, you know, would you want that dream to be reality?"

He shook his head fiercely, "Of course not. Never."

She wanted to reach for him, hold him to her and carefully strip away his hurt and confusion. Instead she found her eyes filling with tears again, "You foolish man, you just had to tell me. I'll always listen to you, talk to you."

He smiled remembering a conversation they'd had a long time ago, "You always did." He stepped closer to her, they were right there, right on the cusp of sharing it all. "This woman, the dream left me feeling confused, hating myself. Disgusted."

"It was just a dream. Just attraction."

"But I'm not even attracted to her. There's only you."

She tilted her head to the side watching him, "Why make this so difficult Charles? You've pushed me away. You've hurt me. You keep hurting me. And yet you stand there telling me things like that…"

"I'd do anything to take it all back, you're the most precious thing to me." He swallowed, his body hot, skin clammy. "Its easier."

"What is?"

"To hurt you. To push you away. It's easier than opening up to you."

* * *

_And I will breathe for you each day_

_Comfort you through all the pain_

_Gently kiss your fears away_

_You can turn to me and cry_

_Always understand that I_

_Give you all I am inside_

* * *

Lying on her side facing him Elsie sniffled tiredly, it wasn't just physical exhaustion, her very being was drained. Charles' hand felt heavy on her back, a familiar comforting weight and she could feel the pound of his heart in his chest beneath her arm that was squashed up against him, her head tucked beneath his chin.

"Sorry," she said, voice clouded with emotion. "I don't mean to keep crying."

"I've caused it. And for that I'm sorry."

"You have to talk to me Charles. I don't understand what's going on. Where you are…" She breathed deeply, afraid, "What it is you want."

"Maybe I don't know myself."

His words stabbed at her chest and it took all of her resolve to hold it in, her breath tight in her throat, lungs burning with the pain of holding back.

"I did feel lost. Sitting at home day after day, too much time to reflect and question. To feel sorry for myself," he allowed his fingers to tangle into the ends of her hair. "I didn't know how to tell you. You see, I've never had to before."

She accepted that, she even understood that – there was something of the irony about this that stung. "If we don't share things, talk about it all, then we'll never be able to build a relationship, a real relationship. More than companions, more than lovers. You taught me that Charles. You were the one patiently waiting for me to open up to you, the one doing the reassuring and the chasing and now I'm here, I'm a hundred percent here and you're not."

"I am."

"You broke my heart."

She watched his face crumple.

"You left me."

"I left the situation. We did nothing but argue."

"You left me. You hurt me, more…" She licked her lips, "…more than Joe ever could because my love for him didn't ever even come close to how I feel about you."

She watched as he closed his eyes, lazy tears finding their way down his face, over the crook of his nose and resting on his lips. She lifted her hand, wiped them away with her thumb. It was the first time he'd cried since she'd proposed.

"You've changed so much," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You're so strong now. And I thought… You know I've always questioned why you're with me."

"Don't do that... that's silly."

"I know it is," he shook his head, laughing at himself, "it's ridiculous, I know that. I'm being ridiculous. But that knowledge doesn't make it go away. And I kept looking at myself thinking why is she with me? Why now – when I'm broken and old and useless…"

"But you aren't!" She gasped, her emotions tumbling over. She forced herself to quiet and listen.

"Remember we saw that couple that time, we were in that coffee shop you like having breakfast one Sunday and I'd finished the paper and you were scanning through it and there was this couple. Older than us but still, he was like a zombie. White and balding and bent and hardly able to walk…and she did everything for him. Sat him down, fetched his drink, his food. Chopped it for him, practically fed him. Took the poor sod to the bathroom when he needed it."

"And you think I wouldn't do the same for you, should the time come?"

"No. I know you would. But I don't want you to have to. I don't want to be a burden to you, you deserve more – no offence Els but you've had some kind of screwed up life and then now, now when you're finally you – vibrant and alive and really living – what? You're some old man's drudge?"

"You're not an old man. And surely that's my choice."

"But that's just the thing isn't it."

"What is?"

"Choice. I fear you may have just settled."

"Sorry?"

"All those years married, thirty years with that man, did you date anybody else when he left you?"

"You know I didn't."

"Just me. And you only agreed to go on a date with me because I was the first to ask. And then date after date and things build and suddenly we're sleeping together and going away and then buying a house and getting married and I suddenly thought God, I've dragged her through this so quickly. She hasn't had time to stop and think about what she really wants. So, I worry that you settled, because I was there, because it was better than being alone."

"Do you think me so shallow?" Her voice had taken on a harder edge now; there was sharpness to her tone.

"Of course not, just…"

"Because if I didn't want you Charles then I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have bothered driving down here. I wouldn't have proposed – because let's remember that, I was the one to propose." She saw the look in his eye, "And what? I did that out of sympathy too, is that what you think? Jeez is that what you've always thought?" She extracted herself from his arms, leaning further back from him. "I can't quite believe…all this time you thought me living a lie?"

"No, no of course not, it wasn't until this. All of this, it gave me time to think, to dwell. And my mind got carried away I suppose."

"And you couldn't tell me? You couldn't just talk to me about it instead of stewing on it? Letting it grow and fester until we're at this point?"

"I'm used to dealing with things on my own, I told you that."

"And so am I Charles! God damn it, I could kill you!" She rolled onto her back, covering her face with her hands. "All this. All of this because of some stupid male pride or misguided beliefs. We have no right getting married because we can't even fucking communicate."

"I am communicating."

"Yes, now, when forced to."

"I needed time. Didn't you tell me the same thing once?"

She couldn't deny that, yes, she had, many times. If she reflected on what she'd put him through she had no right to feel angry, but that didn't stop her feeling exactly that.

"I don't know where we are. Where you are." She rolled over again, against his chest, her face close to his on the pillow, she held his gaze, her eyes flashing with intensity. "Do you even want me Charles?"

He openly cried now, "God yes, so much it kills me. I've been so lonely without you."

"Then stop being so fucking stupid and come home."

He fell against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he sobbed. And she felt this strong, broad man break against her and for some odd reason it mended her heart.

* * *

_I won't ever be too far away to feel you_

_And I won't hesitate at all_

_Whenever you call_

* * *

_**As I said, still more to come, but let's see what you made of this…**_

_**I can't say thank you enough for the many reviews I received last time, having bit of a crisis of confidence at the moment and they certainly helped push me to continue.**_


	45. Chapter 45

_**I wasn't going to say anything here, just quietly post the chapter and let that be that. However, after receiving so many supportive and kind PMs this week I felt it rude to ignore them.**_

_**I realised how much I've LOVED creating this version of Charles and Elsie (my version), no they aren't entirely like the show but they aren't meant to be, this is an AU. If it's not your thing then don't read**__**. And yes, perhaps I do go into a lot of detail, but that's because I love exploring these characters and unfortunately the story will end and I won't be able to do that anymore – so I'm making the most of it. Again, if that's not your thing then don't read.**_

_**I feel sad for other writers who have spoken to me this week about not being able to write anymore because of negative comments. Fanfiction is about being able to indulge and have fun. I am not a professional. I make no money from this. I do it because I love these characters. Nothing else.**_

_**For those still with this pair – thank you.**_

* * *

_**The end of the 3**__**rd**__** arc/book – however, you choose to see it. Originally I'd planned for there to be four but we'll see.**_

* * *

**Chapter 45**

**Saturday 13****th**** February 2016 **– _continued._

Charles slept. His head buried against her chest, her jumper damp from his tears. He was warm and heavy against her but it was a welcome weight, having him there in her arms like a child seeking comfort. And oh how she wanted to comfort him.

For so very long it had been he doing the comforting. He had been the backbone of their relationship, the solid one carrying them through the difficult times. If this period had taught her anything it was that she needed to take the helm now, that's what relationships were about, wasn't it? There would be times where both were going at the same pace, side-by-side, but more often there would be times when one needed to carry the other, and this was her time now, to gently carry him. Preferably without him feeling smothered.

She stroked his hair, remembering the old proverb about footsteps in the sand – days as a child in church and stories her Granny would tell. One set of footprints because God was carrying you through the difficult times. Her belief had been tested severely over the years and she'd often thought it simply a 'nice story', but when she reflected on her relationship with Charles she thought of that now. He'd carried her for so long, and yes he was right, she_ was_ so much better now, not healed but getting there; that didn't mean she was about to abandon him though.

Her love for him, this slight glimpse of something possible only a year earlier, was now so much of her entire being she couldn't separate it from her need to breathe in and out. He often told her she'd given him so very much, she wondered if he really understood how much he'd given her.

He shifted against her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and she rubbed her thumb against the exposed skin of his neck, just above his collar, just below his hairline. _Dear, sweet man._

The afternoon was turning into evening and she heard her stomach rumble and her bladder push against her. She smiled remembering the cave and his laughter over the circumstance. Even amidst all of the horrible stuff there were small smiles, easy laughter. And so much love for one another she'd never thought it possible.

"Els…" she heard him mumble, his hand flexing against her hip.

"Mmm, I'm awake." She kissed his head. "How you feeling?"

"Heavy headed." He unwillingly rolled back from her, moving his head to rest on the pillow beside hers and groaning as he did so. "God, and achy too."

"Oh dear," she turned onto her side to look at him, tucking her hand beneath her cheek as she smiled tenderly at him.

"Hi," he said, reaching to touch her face, his thumb moving over her cheek, sliding over her bottom lip.

"Hi," she whispered in return, nipping his thumb between her teeth.

He smiled, "Minx."

"Why don't you take a bath?" She suggested, taking hold of his hand and turning it in hers. "I'll make us some dinner."

"I think I might." He swallowed, licked his lips, dry from crying and then sleeping.

"Thank you for opening up." She said gently.

"Starting to." He murmured, closing his eyes. "You know, I was thinking about what you said about Isobel. About you assuming she'd been the one to bring me here."

"Oh."

"I didn't contact her for a reason." He said. "It had to be Richard because well, he's a man for a start, he wouldn't get into the whole emotional discussion stuff Izzy would have made me face up to."

She allowed herself a smile at that – yes, Isobel would have definitely made him spill his guts.

"And he's a Doctor, he understood the after effects of the accident. And just, well, maybe Isobel is too close."

He opened his eyes watching her expression, pulling their entwined hands up between them.

"I don't mean that in a romantic way. You know I've never loved anyone like you. What I mean is we've been so close for so long I couldn't face her judgement, just like I couldn't face yours."

"I don't judge you. I was angry with you…"

"_Was_?" He said hopefully.

"Maybe still a little pissed off," she smiled, "in ways. But better now. Now that I'm here."

"Good."

"Can I ask you something though?"

"Whilst I'm chatty you mean."

"Do you understand my insecurities over her? They've always been there."

He sighed, "In a way. We've known each other all our lives, we used to date, I get that. But you don't need to feel insecure around her."

"She's a rich, well-to-do, intelligent, beautiful woman. I often feel like I just rolled up from the pits beside her."

"Nonsense."

"Maybe to you, but not to me."

He nodded, "I can't say more than you have no need to feel insecure or jealous or insignificant beside her. I love you more than anyone. I guess this is one of those things where we're just going to have to trust each other and hope it works itself out, in time."

"I guess so," she said gently. "Can I ask another thing?"

He rolled his eyes, "It'll be morning soon."

She squeezed his hand affectionately, "The teddy bear?" She crooked her face, a half smile tugging at her lips as she asked. "Because I have this wondrous image of you spotting it in a shop and lugging that giant thing home, hanging off one arm."

He chuckled, "That would be about right. I saw it and imagined Anna's face at the sight of it."

"Be perfect in the nursery don't you think? That upstairs room at the back, it has the best view, that wonderful large window to let in the sunshine. We can paint it lemon, you could decorate the walls with your sketches."

"My sketches?"

"I've seen your drawings – trees and meandering rivers, that would look wonderful in there. The bear can sit in the corner overlooking events."

He smiled, "I'd never considered actually doing something large scale."

"You could though, I bet."

He appreciated her encouragement, giving him something to focus on outside of his own tired mind. Squeezing her hand once more he rolled over, pushed himself up and got to his feet.

She did the same, rolling her aching shoulders as she got up. "Go get your bath, I'll bring you a drink in." She bent to start tidying away her half-packed travel bag, aware of him tentatively undressing not far from her, timidly unbuttoning his shirt.

The bruises had almost gone, even the nasty one on the right of his ribs where he'd smashed into the car, where his arm had taken that blow. And then the scar, that made her catch her breath.

She was still tidying away when he left the room and for a second or two she sat on the edge of the bed, the reality of how close she'd come to losing him hitting home.

* * *

When she pushed open the bathroom door with her foot she noted how he sank deeper into the water, covering himself, and so she deliberately stepped closer to him, bending by the side of the bath and placing the glasses on the floor.

"Do you remember," she whispered, pulling her jumper up and over her head. "In Italy, in the bath, I finally said those words?"

He tentatively opened his eyes; he did remember, sometimes the words "_My husband used to rape me," _haunted him. He gave her a slight nod.

"I remember how exposed I felt with you then, but ultimately it was good for me, to share that with you."

She reached to where the sponge sat on the edge of the tub and took hold of it, submerging it into the water and then bringing it up to his chest.

"Els…" he said softly, his hands coming to cover himself.

"Let me," one of her hands gently pushed his away as she set about washing him. She took her time, avoiding the scar to begin with and then, as he seemed to relax, purposefully bringing her index finger up to trace along the raised, pebbled skin.

She felt him tense beneath her but she sank the sponge into the water and squeezed it out over where she'd just touched.

"Do you realise how beautiful you are to me?" She asked, watching his face.

He breathed deeply, his cheeks colouring as he opened his eyes to meet hers.

"Because you are Charles."

He opened his mouth to make some pithy refusal but she held her hand up, silencing him.

"No, you tell me that all the time, let me return it. You're very handsome and I'm very attracted to you." She knelt forward, her knees complaining at the movement. "So let me wash you in the bath."

He briefly touched her wrist and then she was moving again, standing behind him to wash and massage his shoulders. For such an intimate act there was nothing inherently sexual about it. Charles was very much aware that she was taking care of him, and rather than fight that he laid back and enjoyed the feeling of her fingers, tender yet strong, easing his aching muscles.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," he said, leaning back, the top of his head pressing into her chest, "Never used to get ill. Now it's one thing after another."

"Oh honey," she kissed his head, her hands resting heavily on his shoulders. "I'm not sure what I can say to that, to reassure you. I certainly don't think that. I guess it's just…" She sighed, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"It's just age, I know that, happens to us all. Knocked my confidence though."

"I know." She reached her hand down and he lifted his up to fold with hers. "I'm here though, I'm not going anywhere."

"Despite how much I push… shut you out…."

She squeezed his hand, "Never."

He kissed her knuckles, "Thank you for that."

"Old age is scary Charles. But Lord knows we've both of us waited so very long for some happiness, and this is it, you and I, what everybody hopes for. Isn't it?"

He let out a long held breath, "Yes."

"You remember September, we'd not been seeing other long and you took me to the coast one Saturday when it was still warm enough to walk on the beach."

He closed his eyes, smiling. It had rained most of the day and he'd been grouchy, embarrassed at his choice for the date. Then later, they'd eaten ice cream on the sea front as the sun set and her hair kept blowing in her face.

"That was the first time you held my hand, as we walked along the front, and I felt giddy at it, the touch of your fingers against mine. It thrilled me." She admitted, her cheeks warming at the memory, "And I still feel that way Charles, all this time later."

He twisted, reached up to touch her face, stroking his fingers across her cheek and down to her mouth. "So do I."

"So, I ask you again – do you still want to marry me?"

"Absolutely."

"Well then, maybe you should find that ring and see if I still want to marry you."

He smiled, shaking his head at her, "Always a tease."

"You'd hate it if I suddenly became dull."

* * *

**Whitby, September 2014**

"I don't like the look of it in here," Charles grumbled by her ear as he trailed after her through the amusement arcade. "There's some unsavoury characters about."

She snatched a look back at him, "Are we in a Dickens' novel Charles?"

He realised she was sniggering as she preceded him and he wasn't sure if he felt embarrassed by that or too concerned for her safety to even care.

"Ooh, let's play this." She said, swinging her handbag off her arm and sliding into a dodgy looking seat.

"I feel I should lay a handkerchief down for you to sit on."

"Don't be silly, come on," she patted the seat beside him. "Come play."

He glanced across at the tacky sign, 'Bingo', and the shelves fall of plastic toys and miscellaneous objects – statues of small dogs, hairbrushes and cheap bags.

"I don't want to win any of this stuff." He said.

"Well neither do I, but you'll probably have to win a hundred tickets anyway to even get a pencil." She patted the seat again, "Come on, we can pass an hour at this."

She put a couple of pound coins into the machine in front of him giving him no choice but to join in, "Eyes down," the caller (a young spotty youth) shouted and Charles almost tripped lowering himself onto the small stool.

There were of course the usual rabble causing trouble as the game began; a man old enough to know better wolf-whistling every time the numbers 11 or 69 were called – which made Charles feed decidedly uncomfortable. He squirmed in his seat as the caller's pitchy voice got higher.

"Awfully noisy in here," he murmured.

Elsie leaned into his side, "There's always some fuckwit wherever you go." She whispered and for a second he frowned, not sure he'd heard her right, but then she giggled mischievously and he'd laughed, both at the truth of her statement and her colourful choice of language.

Later, when the rain had stopped, leaving behind grey watercolour skies, they took a walk along the wall at the sea front.

Beneath them the sea crashed angrily against the breaker, the spray leaving the walkway slippery. One particular section was covered by a pool of water and they had to walk single file – Elsie set off in front, ever determined, and once again Charles found his eyes drawn to her hands. She had them folded behind her, they tapped against her backside as she moved (another distraction but one step at a time), and he watched amusedly as she curled one finger over the other, back and forth, back and forth.

Deciding he was being a fool over this entire thing he was resolute just to make his move. If she shook him off then so be it. At least he'd know. "My hands are cold," he suddenly said.

"Mmm, mine too, should have brought my gloves." She called back to him. "One wouldn't think you'd need them in September but who knows where we are with the weather these days."

Stepping ever closer to her he waited until she unfurled her hands from one another, her left arm falling to her side, and when there was barely a few inches between them he reached forward and hopefully hooked one finger around one of hers.

Elsie felt a slight tug behind her and for a nano-second paused. Upon realising the cause of the sudden drag on her hand her lips curled into a smile. She turned her head towards the sea and smiled fully at it, away from Charles' face, his attempt to hold her hand was almost childish in its simplicity but oh so sweet.

When she didn't shake him loose he upped his game, bringing three fingers around hers until she opened her hand up and he could hold it properly – palm to palm.

Her skin was cold yes, but so very soft, and having her hand wrapped in his felt like perfection to him, as if they fit hand in glove. He'd spent years watching her graceful fingers dance along the spines of books and wondering what it would be like to feel them against his. Now he knew and he wished he'd done it earlier.

As they walked side by side nobody could question whether or not they were together now and he felt his chest fill with pride at the knowledge that they'd think of them as a couple.

By the time they reached the end of the walkway and stood looking over the stormy sea it started to rain again. No warning, no gentle pitter-patter, full on heavy drops that landed hard on his forehead.

"For goodness sake," he complained – would nothing go right for him today?

"Come on," she tugged on his arm, pulling him back towards shelter. They hunched up against the wall where other walkers had retreated to, seeking some cover from the downpour.

"I'm sorry for this," he said as he looked at her.

"For what?"

"Bringing you to the Yorkshire coast in September, silly idea. Foolish of me. We've done nothing but dodge the rain all day."

"Don't say that. Actually I've rather enjoyed it. Walking with you, talking to you, playing bingo." She reached to brush her hair behind her ears. "It's been nice."

"Despite the rain?" He found it amusing to watch the battle between the wind and her hair; it whipped about her face quite furiously.

"Despite the rain."

He suddenly exclaimed when a thick strand of her hair was tugged upwards and whacked him across the face.

"God, I'm sorry, nothing to tie it back with." She apologised but he was smiling, there were worse things to be hit with.

"No bother." It smelt of coconut, the fragrance lingering long after her hair had been pulled back behind her ears.

"When this stops shall we get chips and eat them watching the tide retreat?" She asked, tucking her hair into the collar of her jacket.

"I was going to take you somewhere posh for dinner, on the way home."

"Really, why?"

"Well, to make up for this…" He said, indicating the rough weather with a sweep of his arm.

"Charles, I've told you, there's nothing to apologise for and you certainly don't need to spend money at expensive restaurants to impress me. I'm not that kind of woman."

"I never thought you were."

"Well then, let's get chips as we're by the sea, then maybe call for a drink on the way home?"

"A better plan."

"Good, because I look a bit of a state for a posh restaurant anyhow."

When they got back to the car Beryl had texted and she sat reading it as Charles messed around with the map, _'How's it goin? Havin' a good time? Has he killed you yet?'_

She assumed 'killed' was a typo for 'kissed' but it made her laugh nevertheless.

'_Having a lovely time. He took me on a walk he likes over the cliffs, I struggled a bit on the uphill – he's obviously much fitter than I am! But it was nice. And no he hasn't 'kissed' me yet, but he did hold my hand as we walked the sea front. It's all very sweet. Will ring you when I get in. X'_

"Everything alright?" He asked, closing the map.

"Everything's fine."

"Good." He started the engine.

It was three more dates before he plucked up the courage to hold her hand again.

* * *

**Sunday 14****th**** February 2016**

"You do know it's Valentine's Day," Charles whispered against the back of her neck the following morning.

"A-ha," her eyes were still closed; in her mind she was still asleep.

He pressed his hand against her stomach – a move bound to get attention.

"Charles…"

"Seems a waste Els, a waste of Valentine's Day."

"Last year you took me to the Italian again, a tribute to our first date."

"And I bought you earrings you hated."

She smirked, "Not hated, just wouldn't have picked myself dear."

He kissed her bare shoulder, "Well, I'm better at that kind of thing now."

"You are."

"You always get good gifts."

"I watch and listen and remember what people say."

"Am I bothering you?"

"It is very early and it is raining and cold."

"Not much to do out, another day sat in here reading my book."

"A-ha."

"Should I shut up and leave you alone?"

"Mmm…"

"I'll do that then." He kissed her again, watching as she smiled in her sleepy state. "I'll go read in the other room." He whispered, shutting the bedroom door after him.

* * *

"Come on, put your shoes on," she said, coming into the lounge and turning the television off.

"What?" He stared up at her. He'd only left her forty minutes ago and to his mind she'd be sleeping for at least another couple of hours. Now here she was, showered and dressed.

"We're going out for breakfast, put your shoes on, unless you're going bare foot." She insisted.

"I don't really feel..."

She held her hand up, "I don't care. You're not going to sit in here day after day feeling maudlin. You need to face the world. Other human beings. So get up and put your shoes on."

He flipped his book closed and slipped his glasses off, "There seems to be a lot of focus on the importance of my shoes."

She hooked her bag over her arm and dangled her car keys on the end of her finger. "Hurry up. We can sit here, in these four walls, and keep talking things through and I can keep crying or we can take ourselves out and face the world."

"You're being bossy."

"I am. So..."

He shrugged, "Right." He bent forward, putting on the shoes she'd put down for him and getting up from the couch.

"Okay, ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Shoving his hands in his pockets he followed to where she'd parked her car, trying to ignore how good her bottom looked in that dress and those heels.

She started the engine, reversed into the road and set off down the hill.

Frustrated by the silence Charles reached over and switched the radio on, the car was filled with a blast of orchestral music and Elsie turned down the volume.

"I know this..." He said, listening to the music. "It's from a film...erm...its..."

"E.T." She said.

"That's it. E.T. Good piece of music."

"Good film."

He nodded.

"What the fuck's this idiot doing?" She complained as a Mondeo pulled out in front of her before braking abruptly.

"Elsie, your language."

"Well, he's had his brakes on all the way down this hill. Get off the road if you can't drive."

He shook his head again, glancing out of the window. "Look at her hair!" He exclaimed and she glanced to the woman standing at the bus stop. "She has multicoloured hair. She must be eighty plus."

She chuckled, as much at his exclamation as at the sight of the woman, "Good for her. And you think we have problems," she reached over and tapped his leg momentarily.

"Mmm. I guess at least I have natural coloured hair."

"I don't. And I'm not ashamed to admit that, I'd look awful with grey hair."

"Mine's going white, another sign of my old age."

"Charles..." She warned.

He switched his attention back to the road instead, mulling on her words, on her touch, on how good it felt to wake holding her that morning.

Elsie pulled into the first coffee place she found, it was a chain but she wasn't about to drive and drive and drive.

"I hate these kind of places." He said, as she took her seatbelt off.

"I know." She turned in her seat to look at him. "But I like it and it serves good coffee and you'll put up with it." She reached over and pressed the release on his seat belt. "Don't make me drag you out like a petulant child."

"Is this the teacher side of you I'm seeing?"

"No Charles. This is the _'I'm still a little pissed off with you for upsetting me so you'll come in and drink chain brand coffee for me_.' Alright?"

He stared at her, her bright eyes and determined expression and then he smiled. "I do love you."

Her face softened, "I know. And I love you too. Very, _very_ much." She squeezed his knee again, "But I'm starving and need caffeine so get out of the car."

* * *

"Hot chocolate." She said as she put his drink in front of him.

He glanced up at her, "I'm not allowed this am I?"

"Consider it a treat. I'm being nice." She sat down across from him, emptying a packet of sugar into her latte. "Or I'm trying to finish you off and inherit your money." She shrugged. "You choose."

He chuckled, "Now I remember this wicked bloody sense of humour."

She smiled at him, "Much better than crying all the sodding time."

"I'm sorry, that I made you cry."

She blinked, swallowed, holding back her ire.

"And...for everything..." He shrugged. "I never meant to make you feel like I was walking away from you. From us."

"But you did make me feel that." She shrugged. "There's nothing we can do about that now Charles, only decide what we're going to do next."

He stretched his hand out across the table towards her and she let her fingers touch his.

"Toasties?" The waitress stopped by their table and Charles looked blankly at her.

"Yes. Thank you." Elsie said.

She pushed one of the plates to Charles. "Eat something."

"I don't want to lose you Elsie."

"I'm still here aren't I. Eat your food."

* * *

The rain wasn't about to stop so she made him go bowling. He complained the entire time she'd driven around searching for the place – _it was something kids did, they'd stick out like sore thumbs, it wasn't great for his back_ – she would've given him the last one but she was so determined to prove him wrong that they went anyway.

She paid for an hour, got their shoes and they took their place on lane number 9.

"I can't work this out," he complained, hands hovering over the keyboard as he stared up at the screen.

Elsie tied the laces on her shoes and read the instructions, "_Press the red square to enter details_. So, press the red button."

"I can't find it."

"Put your glasses on." She smirked, digging about in her handbag for her own. "Goodness, we'll look a right pair trying to figure this thing out."

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"And I told you to stop being grumpy, it's about time you faced the world. Ahh look, here, the red button." She said grandly, elbowing him. "Now enter names. So… E.l.s.i.e and G.r.u…."

"Don't you dare."

She chuckled. "Go get drinks whilst I set us up. Do you want bumpers?"

"Don't be daft."

She giggled again as she stared up at the screen, "One of those J2 thingies for me."

_J2 thingies._ Like he knew what that meant.

By the time he'd returned from the bar she'd set up the score sheet and chosen the weight ball she wanted.

"You're first," she said, taking her drink from him.

He nodded, "I thought I might be." He easily lifted the ball she'd picked out and put it back down again, "This is too light and the holes are too small for my fingers."

"Get your own." She pointed at the stand.

Within a minute he'd chosen, bowled and earned a strike.

"How the bloody hell?" She exclaimed. "You never let on you could bowl."

"Just lucky."

"Hmm…"

Fifteen minutes later and Charles had earned a Turkey and was racing into the lead; Elsie was lucky to hit half the pins.

As she watched her ball lazily inch down and kiss three pins before drifting into the back of the lane she rolled her eyes and turned to face a smug looking Charles.

"This is ridiculous. I'm absolutely terrible at this." She folded her arms, pouting as she went to retrieve the same ball she'd just thrown with.

"You bend your arm," he said, putting down his lemonade. "Just at the last moment, it looks straight but then you just curl it slightly. That's why it keeps going down the side."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

He shrugged, "Didn't want to interfere."

"Well, come and interfere. Even that four year old's better than I am."

"Yes dear, but she does have her father helping her." He moved behind her, one hand on her back, the other on her lower arm. "Now see, you bring your arm back," she did just that, "and as you bring it forward you just tilt here slightly," and she did exactly that with her wrist."

"So, how do I fix it?"

"Well, you can either focus on keeping your arm straight as can be."

"I think my wrist's too weak!"

"Or compensate. Step to the side a bit more, instead of standing in the middle."

She did just that, waited for him to move and then bowled the ball with as much accuracy and strength as she could muster.

It fared better, hitting the pin next to the centre and knocking over all but one.

"There you go, already better." He said and she turned and smiled at him.

By the time they'd reached round eight she'd got the hang of it and bowled her first strike and was jumping in the air and shouting as she watched the pins collapse. Charles couldn't help but laugh at her joy.

"I'm back in this now," she teased, moving beside him as he went to pick up his ball.

"We shall see," he said.

"Indeed we shall." She leant on his arm and kissed his cheek. "Don't let me put you off though," she whispered mischievously.

"If anything's putting me off is how faintly ridiculous you look in that dress and those shoes."

She blobbed her tongue out, sliding her glasses on to look up at the score.

"Child." He laughed as he went to bowl.

* * *

"Technically, I came second." She said as they drove back to the house.

"That is a very loose interpretation of second." He said, gazing out of the window and then suddenly laughing loudly, "_I came second_. Ha!"

"Hey," she slapped his arm, "I should be used to coming second shouldn't I…"

"Oh now we're on dangerous ground." He smiled, turning to look at her and they were both laughing then – _how easy the banter had returned_, he mused. And how pleased he was at that fact.

"You fancy going for a walk on the beach now it's stopped raining?" He asked, watching her profile.

"Sure. I'll change into my jeans though, too cold for a dress."

* * *

Elsie pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and shivered as the breeze rolled up from the Atlantic and whipped around her face. Charles was taking his time taking photographs and so she set off ahead, believing the walk might at least warm her some.

She'd almost forgotten how much he loved that camera – in Dubai he'd been constantly snapping away, she figured he must have an album in itself dedicated to pictures of her reluctantly posing in whichever spot they happened to be visiting.

"Hey, turn around," he shouted and she did so, brushing her hair back from her face.

He was crouched down, turning the camera back from the view to her.

"Are you stuck down there?"

"I might be, but let's get a picture first shall we?"

"Charles, I look like hell – lack of sleep and this grey weather."

"Come on, its Valentine's Day, I want a memory."

She rolled her eyes but adopted a smile anyhow until he'd finished clicking away.

"Done?"

"A-ha," he said, clipping the cover on his lens.

"And can you get up?"

He made a show of groaning as he pushed himself to his feet before grinning at her, "Not quite dead yet."

"So I see." She smiled, resuming her walk.

He jogged to catch up, slipping his hand into hers and swinging their entwined hands between them.

"I'm glad to see you happier." She said as they walked.

"I'm glad to feel happier, believe me. I'm not quite…" he looked out across her head to the ocean, "I don't quite feel 'me' again yet though, does that make sense?"

"Very much. And nobody expects it overnight Charles, it was a traumatic experience. Just as long as you recognize that and deal with it, preferably involving me."

"You're beginning to sound like a therapist."

"Perhaps I've spent too much time with one. I have learnt that you can't ignore things otherwise they just linger about up here," she tapped the side of her head. "And then cause problems with those you care for the most." She squeezed his hand.

"We've reached something of an equilibrium, don't you think?"

"I suppose so, in a way. I suppose I pushed you as hard as I could in the beginning of this and you still hung around. I was a real bitch at times."

"Are you saying I've returned the favour?"

"Not quite to the same extent," she smiled, "but in a way."

"And you've '_hung around_'?" He chuckled and she elbowed him for his cheek.

"Look," he said, halting their walk. "Stop for a second."

He moved to stand in front of her, taking hold of both of her hands, "Been quite the rocky road for us…"

"Are you making a speech?" She said, her mouth twisting to one side.

"Shut up and listen."

"Oh, right, yes sir." She smirked, "Go on then, 'rocky road' you were saying…"

"How on earth can I do this if you make jokes?" He shook his head. "Okay, so just when I thought it was all going wonderfully well this mess happens and I'm knocked for six. We are. But… can I use a sea metaphor as we're here?"

"Are you going to say something about hoping we're over the choppy waters and into calmer seas?"

"Exactly that."

"You do realize we have a grandchild on the way, I'm not sure anything about that will be calm."

"Geez, Els…"

She reached a hand up to touch his face, "Just kiss me Charles, you haven't kissed me properly since I got here. No need for speeches."

She always was the more practical of the pair. Leaning in he tenderly pressed his lips to hers, delighted when she softly moaned and wrapped her arms around him, deepening the kiss.

"So," he said breathless. "I have something for you."

"I hope it's a hot water bottle because I'm freezing."

"Not quite," he dug his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out her engagement ring. "How would you feel about putting this back on?"

She felt her eyes prick with tears as she looked down at the ring lying in the middle of his palm.

"I'd feel rather happy about that," she said softly.

Nodding he lifted her hand and slid the ring back onto her finger. "Never, ever, to come off again." He said decisively.

"No."

They kissed again; relief and tears and that deep passion they had for one another bringing them together.

"Can we go back now?" She finally whispered. "Have a cup of tea?"

"Mmm," he brushed her hair back from her face, kissing the top of her head as he did so. "Let's do one last thing before we go."

She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him, "What?"

"A little paddle perhaps."

"You've got to be kidding me, it's bloody freezing."

But he was already untying his laces and rolling up his trousers.

"Come on, you're usually the adventurous one."

"It's February, we're in England, it's asking for frostbite."

"Live a little Els." He held his hand out to her.

"I don't know what I've created! I'm not going in there Charles, suppose my toes freeze and fall off?"

He laughed, shaking his hand at her, "Come on. You can hold me up if I get dizzy. Still recovering you know. You can keep me steady."

His words warmed her, especially after all the doubt over the past few weeks, but this was it now. There would be no going back or changed minds or walking away. They'd keep each other steady, whatever the future held.

Bending, she quickly slipped her shoes off and pushed her jeans as high up her legs as they would go and took his waiting hand.

She yelped as soon as the water licked her toes and squeezed his fingers tight. "Oh my god this is ridiculous."

"Refreshing though."

"Madness."

He brought her hand up to kiss, "Just a few minutes contemplation, then we can go."

"Back to the beach house or back to Yorkshire?"

"Yorkshire I think, we have kittens to collect don't we." He stated confidently, feeling hope fill him for the first time in many weeks.

"Oh good, home."

He stroked her hand with his, "I am home."

* * *

_**x**_


	46. Chapter 46

_**And so we reach arc 4 / book 4 – however you want to see it. The final bit!**_

_**Couple of things in here – a treat for theoofoof (I have tried my best to meet your request). Brownies for Chelsiesouloftheabbey for being my unofficial/official beta. Love you both x**_

_**For the final part of this chapter try listening to Beyonce's 'Rocket' to set the tone.**_

* * *

**Chapter 46**

**Mid-March 2016**

He's woken by her crawling back into bed, her feet cold as she slips one of her legs between his and her toes curl against the top of his foot.

He grunts his disapproval and she smiles as she buries her face against his chest and snakes an arm around his waist.

"Like ice," he mumbles.

"Warm me up." The tips of her fingers dig gently into his back and he kisses the top of her head.

His arms encircle her slight frame and press her against him as he cracks open an eye and glances to the clock, 6:45 on a Sunday morning and now he's awake.

Rolling onto his back he brings her with him, for a moment she mumbles and then her head settles against his chest. He can feel her breasts against him through the thin material of her nightgown. The heat of her thigh as her leg curls around his. That distinct smell that is purely Elsie.

Eyes closed he trails his fingertips down her back, slow and steady along her spine, and then back up again until he reaches her neck. The pad of his thumb works its way to her hairline, and then back down, back and forth until she squirms against him. He allows himself a smile then tenderly strokes to the left, behind her ear, down until his nail catches the lobe and then back up along the shell of her ear, her hair covering his fingers.

He steps up his actions, easing his fingers deeper into her hair. With the heavy warmth against his palm he kisses her head again.

Moaning sleepily she twists onto her side, one leg still curled over the top of his still, her arm draped over his chest, the new position pushing her right breast forward. With his eyes closed he smiles, one hand confidently trails down to cup her breast, his palm hovering over her nipple, increasing the pressure until she moans her pleasure.

Easing his arm out from beneath her he gently rolls her onto her back and lies beside her, watching her for a moment – her eyes are closed, she's feigning sleep, but there's a light smile playing across her face. He reaches to where her nightgown is tangled around her thighs and pushes it up, keeping his eyes on her face, watching the smile spread, her cheekbones rise.

She lifts her arms willingly as he undresses her and then for a long time he lies beside her, his fingers reverently stroking her skin. Beneath her chin, down her neck, between the valley of her breasts. Creamy, pale skin dusted with freckles. His palm on the curved plane of her belly, the contrast between his hand and her abdomen.

He watches as her chest rises and falls as she breathes deeply, feels the urge to cover her body with his. Instead he takes his time, it's been so very long since they made love, the desire is there, the want and need, but his body is still reluctant to catch up.

Elsie hums her pleasure as his mouth meets her belly, his lips warm and soft as they travel lower. His hand between her thighs easing her legs apart – he hears the slight giggle, she's extra sensitive there, right at the very top of her thighs.

She's moaning as he trails his hand higher, shifting beneath him, her knees bending, the bed sheets falling. He keeps his hand there, finds himself a position where he can watch her face. How she alternates between soft groans of pleasure, deep down at the back of her throat, and open-mouthed sighs, heavenly smiles.

One hand curls into the pillow by her head as he lifts her body higher, making her fly; he knows her so well now, senses exactly what she needs. Not too hard, she doesn't like that, soft, gentle fingers. Be careful when slipping inside her, her silken skin is sensitive – stroke delicately, find that exact spot and then she's groaning out his name and pledging him her love and then withdraw, let her come down slightly before replacing hand with mouth. And then he relies on his hearing and the way her body curls beneath him, her pelvis pushed forward, her breath coming in pants. And then perfection. Sweet, glorious perfection.

Her hand is in his hair, tugging at the strands, impatient with lust and his mouth moves over her stomach, up higher, his hips between her thighs.

"I want you," she whispers repeatedly, clutching at his shoulders, finding his mouth with hers. She kisses him deeply, passionately, still coming down from her climax, desperate for him to do it all over again.

And he wants to so badly, wants to love her over and over again. This beautiful woman who smells so good and feels so good and is all he ever wanted in life.

And yet he can't. He just can't. His body won't comply.

"Christ," he breathes painfully, pressing his face into the pillow beside her head. "I'm sorry." His words are muffled.

She strokes her hand down his back, intending to soothe, "Charles…"

"No. Don't…"

She slides her hand into his hair, "Honey, look at me."

Reluctantly he does so, but the sight of her bright eyes and swollen lips from kissing only make it all seem so much worse. "I'm sorry." He says again.

"Don't apologise." She strokes her fingers down the side of his face. "There are other ways to make love Charles."

"Yeah…" he agrees non-committedly, but then he's closing his eyes and shaking his head and pulling away from her. His body moving from hers, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and getting to his feet.

"Charles."

Her tone is almost pleading, sad perhaps, though he only hears disappointment.

He reaches back and pats her leg, "Go back to sleep, it's Sunday and early. I'm gonna take a shower and fetch the papers."

They've had this for weeks and she's learnt when to keep her mouth shut and leave him be.

* * *

When he gets back from the shop she's in the kitchen, dressed and preparing breakfast and there's the smell of pancakes and a pot of tea on the table.

"Hello," she smiles, and he's glad the radio is on and she's there and wonderful.

He drops the papers, slips his scarf off, "Hi. Smells good."

"Mmm," she kisses his cheek as she carries blueberries to the table. "Well I do like to spoil you every now and then. Better than porridge, for a change."

His hands rest on her hips and she pauses for a moment by the table as he presses his face against her hair and kisses her head. "Love you."

"I know." She twists her head round to kiss him. "Now feed the babies will you, whilst I finish this."

He groaned, "Oh god, where are they?"

"Back yard."

He opened the kitchen door, the wind bracing as it raced up off the fields and into the warmth of their kitchen. There was still frost on the ground but he sensed a slight change in the weather. The softening of the air, the sharpness ebbing away.

"Be able to get into the garden soon, get some planting done."

"Bring your sketches to life."

"Exactly. Give me something to do. _In, now_." He dug his hands into his pockets when met with no response. "Come on you two, it's freezing." He watched the two kittens trail from plant pot to plant pot sniffing and scratching. They'd only been allowed outdoors for the past week – a Sunday ago, and Elsie had spent the entire time sitting outside watching them in a state of nervous tension, afraid that at any second they'd make a run for it, never to be seen again.

"I've told you to shake those biscuits, they'll come then."

"They need to learn instructions."

"Charles, they're kittens not employees. I'm not sure even your grandchild will immediately know how to follow_ instructions_."

He watched as William – the ginger kitten – ran at Mary – they grey one – and rolled her to the floor. The two throwing paws back and forth as they swiped at each other.

"My grandchild." He said gently.

"Mmm, your grandchild. And I bet he or she will have you wrapped around their tiny little finger within a couple of days." She teased, waving the bag of biscuits at him as she passed and shook them.

"Come on, you two."

As if sensing the importance in their mother's voice they ceased their activities and raced past her and into the kitchen.

"See?" She smiled, closing the door.

"They only do it to mock me."

"Ha, sit down and pour the tea, would you, darling? Before it gets too strong."

He did as she asked, watching as she fed the two fur balls and scratched behind their ears as they settled down to eat. "Yes, that's good isn't it, my little babies?"

He shook his head at her; she was far too soft with them.

"Did you say you were seeing Anna later?"

"A-ha, I promised her I'd buy the pram, and we're getting a bit close now. So, today she'll choose one if it takes all bloody day." She sat down across from him. "So be prepared for me coming home poor."

"How much do these things cost?" He said, spooning blueberries onto his pancakes. "Hundred pounds or something?"

"Are you kidding me? Try a _few_ hundred and more."

"What? For a damned pram?"

"I know. But I promised and I want to."

"I'm not saying don't," he dug into his breakfast. "But pick a good one, a safe one I mean. Don't want he or she being uncomfortable. Whatever it costs."

She smiled as she watched him eat, "Of course, sir. I'll be sure to check it has a full service history and excellent safety records."

"Taking the piss…"

She giggled, "You can come along if you like?"

"Will John be there?"

"No, he's got the shop open, just a girly day."

"Then I'll stay at home, I thought I might ask Richard over for a while. If you don't mind."

"Of course not. You can ask Izzy too you know, I won't mind."

"I know," he glanced to the side as Mary pawed at his leg and sat back, watching as she jumped onto his lap, circled and plonked herself down. He looked across as Elsie giggled. "I'm eating my breakfast."

"These are things you'll have to get used to."

"Can't I just push her off?"

She frowned.

"I guess not."

Pushing her chair out Elsie got up, wiping her hands on her napkin. "Look, she's so tiny, she just wants to cuddle." She scooped her hand under the kitten. "Come on darling, you know you sleep in your basket."

Charles watched as she nuzzled the kitten's face and placed her down in her basket in the corner of the kitchen.

"I don't think they like me."

"Nonsense. What's not to like? Besides you spend more time with them than I do." She sat back down. "So, dinner? Should I pick something up while I'm out?"

"Can I call you later, when I've spoken to them?"

"Of course."

* * *

Richard laughed as two tiny felines skidded across the kitchen floor, one tripping over its front legs and going headfirst into the skirting board.

"Ouch! Felt that for him."

"That's a her," Charles pointed out, "and she's always doing it. These two have become the bane of my life. Scratching and pulling and… have you ever tried to get dried cat food off floor tiles?"

"I can't say I have. But I have spent a considerable amount of time chasing dogs round parks and cleaning up after them."

Charles laughed as he spooned coffee into the pot, "Alright, at least cats walk themselves I guess. And Elsie's completely in love."

"But of course she is. Where is she today?"

"Pram shopping."

"Ahh, another big event. You're looking forward to the impending birth?"

"Try terrified about it, but don't tell anyone that. I'm trying to play the calm and collected role."

Richard chuckled, "Don't let them see the fear in your eyes. These two allowed out?" He asked as the kittens pawed the bottom of the door.

"Yeah, let 'em go…"

Richard opened the door and William and Mary dashed out before him.

"Watch them though!" Charles added quickly, hearing Elsie's voice in his head.

The early afternoon sunshine was just clearing the top of the house and the kittens raced around chasing floating leaves. It was still fairly chilly mid-March but with the afternoon sun it lessened the impact of the breeze. The world around them was thawing and spring was very much staking its claim.

"Tremendous view," Richard said as he stood at the edge of the patio and looked down from their garden to the Yorkshire countryside. "Going to be quite wonderful in the summer."

"You want to sit out there?" Charles shouted from the kitchen, "I'll bring the coffee out."

"Sure."

They dried off the chairs and turned them to take in the view.

"So, the reason I got you here," Charles said, sipping his coffee, "is for a very awkward conversation."

"Oh?"

"To do with…well, my recovery I guess."

"I thought everything had healed fine."

"It has, for the most part."

Richard dug around in the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out two cigars, holding one out to Charles but he shook his head.

"I'm only talking to you because I don't fancy having this discussion with my GP."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Charles sat back in his chair and Richard smiled knowingly as Mary jumped up onto his lap, circled in her usual fashion and then sat herself down.

"So, what do you want to ask me? Strictly confidential of course."

Draining his coffee Charles tentatively continued, "I've had a problem, since the accident, in the… well, you know… in the bedroom department." He kept his eyes away from Richard's, stroking the kitten's back, his large hand covering the tiny body completely. "I don't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed," Richard said gently, blowing out cigar smoke into the air. "Well, there are things you can do, things to take to help."

"I know that," he breathed deeply, "The things is, well, I don't want to feel like I have to take a pill every time I want to make love to my wife."

Richard smiled, "Your wife?"

"She will be."

"But you cancelled April…?"

Charles refilled their coffee cups, careful not to shift too far in his seat and disturb Mary asleep on his lap.

"We have. It was too much you know, the accident and Anna due to give birth. And moving house…" he sighed, turning the spoon over in his saucer. "I'm not saying I don't regret it, I do, but it's just all too much at once." He shrugged. "We could disappear, marry simply and quietly."

"I can't see you as the kind of guy who'd be happy with Elvis blessing your ceremony."

Charles chuckled, grateful of Richard's easy-going nature.

"No, I don't mean Vegas. But a registry office is easy enough. We don't have to spend a huge amount of money or have a big celebration."

Richard sucked on his cigar, slowly exhaling the smoke. "But… you see the thing is Charles, you _do_ want a big celebration. You do want to get married in church. And damn it, you deserve that, all these years sitting on the side lines, now don't pull that face, I was there remember. You deserve a real wedding."

"I want a real _marriage_."

"Oh I think you already have that." He gestured back towards the house. "Owning a home is far more challenging than signing on the dotted line. And now kittens. And you're going to be a grandfather, yes, that's how you see it?"

Charles nodded, his thumb tickling beneath Mary's chin. He glanced down feeling William nuzzle his ankle and dropped a hand down to scoop him up and onto his lap beside the other one.

"Yes, that's how I see it. Hard to believe, never thought I'd be a father let alone a grandfather."

"See. You're already in a marriage, ring on your finger or not. Not many women would have left you alone for two weeks to work through whatever issues you had and then still come running after you. There's no reason for you to doubt whether you can make a marriage work, Charles, because you're already in it."

Charles tilted his head back, surveying the view.

"As for the other thing," Richard added gently, "if you don't want to take anything then I'd suggest relaxing. If you stress over it then it will be worse. Go walking, a couple of miles a day, you've got all this here, Charles – spend time walking in it. Clear your head. Get rid of the worries."

Charles nodded, one kitten settled in each hand.

"Some people try acupuncture."

Charles rolled his eyes, "New age stuff."

"Make sure your diet's good, watermelon, apparently that's good, eat watermelon."

"I'll give it a try," Charles chuckled.

They both glanced up as they heard a car pull up around the other side of the house.

"That's either Izzy or Elsie." Richard said, stubbing his cigar out. "Don't tell either of them I smoked this in front of you."

Charles laughed, "You think you can hide anything from either of them?"

There were heels on the gravel and Charles glanced over his shoulder as Elsie came up behind him, swinging bags in her hands.

"Hello Richard, very nice to see you." She said as she bent to kiss his cheek.

"And you, darling. Had fun shopping?"

"I've bought no end of baby things, we'll need to re-mortgage." She turned her attention to Charles, "Ahh, look at you," she smiled down at the kittens asleep in his lap. "And you think you don't get on. My three favourite people."

"They're _kittens_."

"Don't be picky." She kissed his forehead.

"You get a pram?"

"A-ha, I took a picture too," she put her bags down and dug around in her handbag for her phone. "I'm sorry to bore you with this Richard."

"It's fine, carry on."

"Have you been smoking?"

"Whilst I was inside making the coffee," Charles interjected, Richard winking at him behind Elsie's back.

"Mmm," she flicked through the pictures on her phone. "Okay, here, see…"

"It's bright purple!"

"Pretty cool, right?"

"I'll look an idiot pushing that about."

"Oh, honey," she ruffled his hair, "I like how you've already pictured yourself pushing it."

"Oh, he's going to be quite the doting grandpa, I feel." Richard laughed.

"Apparently I need to walk a couple of miles a day, so pushing the baby round here seems the logical thing to do."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Is Izzy joining us?"

"She is." Richard said, sitting forward.

"I guess I better get started on dinner then."

"I said I'd cook." Charles moved to get up, the kittens protesting at his movement.

"No, it's fine. You chat with Richard." She watched as Mary rolled over onto her back, stretching her paw into the air and yawning. Charles ran his index finger down her stomach and she swiped at it; he let her drag the tip of his finger up to her mouth and nibbled on it.

"Ow, that hurts." He said, ruffling her neck.

"And he says I'm soft with them." Elsie smiled at Richard.

* * *

Elsie took another bottle of wine from the fridge along with the cheesecake she'd purchased in town, she hoped nobody would mind that she hadn't had time to make it from scratch.

Carrying both through to the dining room, she arrived just as the rest of them burst into laughter.

"What's funny?" she asked, placing the cheesecake on the table.

"Izzy was just regaling me with nappy stories." Charles said, stretching for the wine and refilling their glasses.

"You do realise I drove here, don't you Charles?" Isobel smiled, placing her hand on top of her glass.

"Well, leave the car and get a taxi home, or better still, stay over, we have room."

If she were shocked by his proposal Elsie didn't show it, she served up the cheesecake and passed the plates around, discreetly glancing at the clock – she'd have to do a bit of work before bed.

"Have you asked him yet, anyway?" Isobel asked.

"Not yet, but I will."

"Asked me what?" Charles said, slicing his fork into his dessert. He pushed his chair suddenly when he heard one of the kittens scratching in the corner of the room. "Ah, no you don't, you little sod."

"Charles…" Elsie said, watching as he scooped William up and carried him through the kitchen and into the utility room; by the time he made it to the litter tray he had a palm full of cat pee.

"Charming," he complained as the tiny bundle jumped out of the tray, sending stones scattering over the floor.

"Alright in there?" Elsie called behind barely veiled laughter.

"Bloody wonderful," he stuck his hand under the hot tap and covered it in hand wash. "They need to learn rules, I keep saying that."

The other three were sniggering by the time he made it back to them.

"Oh its very funny isn't it, as usual I have to be the one instilling discipline."

Elsie laughed, "Oh, but you do it so well."

He rolled his eyes as he sat down again. "I keep finding little pools of cat pee dotted about the place."

"I told you to spray some of that stuff, I bought it for you, they don't like the scent."

"I don't like the scent," he complained, "smells like citrus all round the house. And you can stop laughing," he chuckled, pointing his fork at Richard.

"Sorry old man, you just wait, if Anna has a boy you'll have pee in more places than your hand."

"Don't scare him," Isobel smiled. "Now, go on, ask him."

Elsie leant back in her chair, cradling her wine glass as she watched the scene.

"Yes, what is it I'm being asked to do now? Go on."

"Do you remember last year we raised the idea of starting a bowls club?"

"I do indeed, revitalising that patch of land we don't use."

"Well, the thing is…" Richard said.

"You could run it, chair it!" Isobel interrupted, excitement in her voice.

Charles swallowed his wine, "Chair it? There's nothing to chair."

Elsie leant forward, resting her elbows on the table, she didn't want to interfere but she silently willed him to take it up.

"But there could be, you know how it works, you know the people, you're respected at the club." Isobel said.

"There's fundraising to do," Richard added. "And you could manage all that, you know the community."

"I feel like you two are trying to sell me something."

"We just thought it would be good for you," Isobel said gently, reaching to pat his hand.

"Bowls," he shook his head. "It's an old man's sport isn't it?"

"I think you'd be surprised how popular it is." Richard added.

Charles glanced across the table to Elsie, "You're awfully quiet."

"I know as much about bowls as I do cricket," she shrugged, "but if it'd make you happy then of course I'm all for it."

He leant back in his chair turning the idea over in his mind, startled when once again Mary jumped up to his lap. "Oh god, this bloody cat."

"She loves you," Elsie smiled. "Now, shall I get some coffee, brandy?" She pushed her chair back. "Are you two staying?"

"Well, we could do, I suppose, if you don't mind."

"It's fine, I'll just make sure the room's made up. I will have to abandon you lot soon though, I'm afraid."

"Oh, darling, I forgot. Sunday night, she always ends up working Sunday night." Charles explained.

"Haven't got much to do luckily, plan a couple of lessons, check my emails and such."

"We don't want to impose," Isobel said getting to her feet and helping to clear the table. She followed Elsie through to the kitchen carrying their empty dishes.

"You aren't, really." Elsie briefly touched Isobel's arm. "It's nice, for Charles to have you here I mean. He's brighter every day. And thank you for that, the bowls thing, it'll be good for him to take charge of something."

Isobel nodded, her eyes warm and friendly. "He seems much brighter. No doubt down to your support. I am sorry, you know, that you've postponed the wedding."

Elsie bit her lip. "Thanks for saying that; it isn't forever, once the baby's born I think we can start to make plans again."

"Anna's well though?"

"Yes, very, a smooth pregnancy. But she's still my baby and I worry."

She had her back to Isobel but she turned when she felt her touch her arm. "I'm glad you brought him home. I've known Charles almost all my life and he's never been happier, you know, so thank you for that, for what you've given him."

Elsie opened her mouth to speak but found there was nothing to say, so instead she nodded, her throat tight.

* * *

It was late when Charles crept to bed. Elsie had been asleep for a couple of hours and he felt guilty as he lifted the sheets and slipped in beside her warm body. But she turned as he lay back and nestled against his side.

"Everything ok?" She mumbled.

"Fine, bit tipsy. Izzy fell to sleep on the couch." He heard her smile and kissed her head. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's fine," she lifted her head up to kiss him, her mouth soft and pliant in her sleepy state.

He felt something press against the top of his head and almost shot out of bed when a paw landed on his nose.

"What the… Els, they can't sleep in here."

"They've a basket on the floor but they don't seem to want it."

"Well, of course not when there's a nice warm bed here." He watched as William trampled over the pillows and settled himself down at the other side of Elsie's head. "They need to sleep in the kitchen."

"Oh, honey," she rubbed her hand across his chest, "it's cold down there and lonely. They're only tiny."

"They're taking over this house."

"Mmm," she kissed him again, deeper this time until he forgot about where kittens should and shouldn't sleep.

* * *

**A week later – Friday night**

When she got home from work – her briefcase in one hand, fish and chips in the other – the house was dark and silent. Panicking, she put her things on the hall floor and dashed around searching for him.

He was asleep. On top of their bed, fully dressed, both of the kittens curled on his chest, sleeping too.

For a moment she leant against the doorframe watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way the kittens would move in time with his breathing, their tails curled around one another.

Slipping her coat off and hanging it across the bottom of the bed she smiled as William noticed her, stretching out his paw and yawning. When she knelt on the bed and crawled up towards him she reached her hand forward and felt his tiny claws swipe at her skin. She kissed both of their heads before continuing up to Charles, kissing his forehead, down his nose and then capturing his mouth in a sleepy kiss.

"Hi, gorgeous," he said, breathless, happy. "Nice way to be woken up."

"Hi, darling, sleeping in the afternoon?"

"Just a nap."

She reached a hand down to stroke Mary's back, "A good day?"

"Not bad," he yawned, covering his mouth. "Got everything ready for tomorrow, I'm hoping for a good turn out."

"There will be. Oh bugger," she groaned, brushing her hair back, "I've got to bake haven't I?"

"Well, you don't have to."

"Yes, I bloody do," she got up from the bed, pulling her blouse from her trousers. "Can't go to the chairman's fundraising shindig and his wife not have prepared anything." She paused in her undressing, smiling coyly at him. "Fiancée."

"I like wife." He folded his arms beneath his head. "You're getting changed…?"

"I can't bake naked."

"I'd find it entertaining."

"Of course you would." She threw her blouse at him. "Come on, I got fish and chips for dinner, they'll need warming up now."

He warmed dinner whilst she measured the ingredients for her lemon cake; it was in the oven by the time she sat down to eat.

"I was going to do a cake, some brownies – because they always sell well – and buns, fairy cakes, Anna used to love them when she was a kid. Sound okay?"

"Perfect." He put his fork down, "Oh, look at these," he pulled a pile of posters from beneath his newspaper. "Took me ages messing about on your laptop thingy."

"They look good," she flicked through them, "you've used all my coloured ink no doubt. An auction? What's being auctioned?"

"I've got a few things, maybe me."

"You?" Her eyes widened. "I didn't agree to that. What do they get?"

"Dinner, perhaps. In fact, I'd get more if I auctioned a night with you," he reached for her hand. "What d'ya say?"

"So you'd auction me off, would you? For the sake of your bowls club? A night with a stranger, an indecent proposal, just for a few pound coins…"

He brought her hand to his mouth, never taking his eyes from her sparkling eyes and teasing smile. He kissed her knuckles, "Never. Did I tell you the mayor is coming?"

"No. That's wonderful. How did you manage that?"

"You won't like it, but Laura knows him, she made a few calls for me."

"Hmm, I wonder what played a part in forging _that_ acquaintance." She said, as she cut into her fish.

"Now, now, Elsie…" He smirked.

"Just an observation. What's _she_ auctioning tomorrow?"

"I have no idea."

"Maybe a cake in the shape of her breasts."

"Don't raise my hopes."

She slapped his arm, laughing at his expression.

"You did ask for that," he smiled.

Later he set up the ironing board in the lounge and watched television as he worked his way through the pile of clothes, a job he'd meant to do that afternoon - if he hadn't fallen asleep, that is. He was often tired in the afternoon these days, age.

He'd left Elsie baking in the kitchen but soon she draped herself across the sofa, her bare feet resting on its arm, as she chatted with him.

"Every time the phone rings now my heart jumps," he said, turning his shirt to press the collar.

"Oh?" She bit down on her lip, twirled her hair around her finger. That worried her, she knew what he meant but it still worried her.

"I'm a nervous wreck."

"She's fine, Charles, I spoke to her at lunchtime and she's fine. Her back aches and she's frustrated, but fine. Healthy."

He slipped his shirt onto a hanger as he watched her dig her heels into the arm of the sofa. "What were you like, you know, when you were pregnant?"

"Ha! Fat!"

He chuckled, "And?"

"Swollen. And grouchy, towards the end." She shrugged. "Happy, I liked being pregnant. Some hate it, I liked it. Feeling my body grow and change, creating this bond." She smiled at him, "There's nothing like it you know, the first time you see your baby's face, first time you hold that tiny being in your arms."

She swung her legs off of the sofa, getting up and moving to him, "I can't wait to share that with you." He watched as her hand slid down his forearm, her fingers tickling his palm, "Slightly different as grandparents but still…" She leant in to kiss him, then paused. "Oh shit!" She suddenly exclaimed, dashing out of the lounge and into the kitchen. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"What's wrong?" He asked, putting the pair of trousers down he was going to iron and following her.

He watched as she opened the oven door and pulled out a tray of slightly brown fairy cakes.

"Oh bugger it!" She said, slamming the door shut. "That's talking to you."

"They don't look too bad."

"Nobody's going to pay for these, I'd be lucky to give them away." She lifted the lid on the bin. "Sod it, I'll start again."

"Sweetheart…"

"It's fine, it's fine." She dropped the tray into the sink and turned on the tap, feeling his hands slide around her waist as his lips kissed her cheek. "Your fault for dating someone who can't bake." She said.

"Oh I think I'm doing more than _dating _her."

"Mmm," she twisted her head to kiss him. "Now bugger off so I can get on with this and make you proud." She yelped as he pinched her bottom and swatted at him with the dishcloth.

"Very sexy, you know," he said as he backed away from her, "the apron and stuff, very sexy."

"Well, it's my Friday night look."

* * *

**Saturday**

They woke late. Spooned up together and enjoying a lazy morning. And then when Elsie turned over and glanced at the clock she almost fell out of bed.

"What's wrong?"

"It's quarter to ten, we're meant to be there at half past."

"Oh god, I need to shave."

"I need to slice up that brownie. God, I hope the icing's set on the lemon cake."

They rushed about the bedroom, bumping into each other as they tried to share the bathroom and get dressed at the same time.

Charles made a pot of tea as she boxed up the cakes.

"Warm the knife," he said as she set about slicing the brownies.

She held it beneath the warm tap. "Fairy cakes look okay though, right?" She bit her lip and he chuckled.

"You're really worried about this."

"Not worried, per say. Just, you know, want it to be okay."

"Do you think me very ridiculous, Elsie?"

She paused, turning to look at him, reaching for a towel. "Ridiculous? Why would I?"

"All this bowls stuff. All this fuss over fundraising."

"Of course it isn't ridiculous. I think it's wonderful you've thrown yourself into it." She squeezed his arm briefly before slicing the brownie clean in half.

"I know why they're doing it," he said softly, sipping his tea. "I'm not stupid."

"Nobody thinks you are dear."

He watched her concentrated face as she wiped the knife and cut the blocks into small squares.

"But it is nice, to feel useful again."

She looked up to his face now, standing so close to her she could smell his aftershave. "You're useful to me."

He smiled, "Somebody has to clean up the cat pee."

"Well, exactly. Seriously though, you miss the shop?"

"Sometimes." He shrugged. "But I like this, being here, time to myself. I think it was time I slowed down. And you don't get much slower than bowls I suppose."

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, "Right, best feed the rascals before we go. That looks good. Smells good too."

"Thank you. I am rather pleased with it."

He was bending to spoon food into the cat bowls when he heard Elsie gasp behind him. Turning his head he saw the plastic tub full of brownies resting on the kitchen floor, lid side down.

She looked up slowly at him, eyes wide, her hands still held aloft in mid-air where the tub had slipped from them.

"Oh… shit…!" She slowly exhaled.

He seemed frozen to the floor as she bent and lifted the tub, turning it over, the brownies falling haphazardly inside. Placing it on the side again she tentatively lifted the lid and inspected the contents.

"Oh." She groaned looking at the crumbled tops. "Oh, no…" Huffing she decisively pressed the lid back on to the tub. "Fuck it! They're going as they are."

And Charles sat back on the floor laughing.

* * *

At the event Charles was in demand, moving around like a pro, chatting, taking photographs, answering questions. Elsie found herself side-lined, losing sight of him and, having very little knowledge of cricket, bowls or the club, she found herself at the bar sipping a spritzer.

A younger woman sat beside her, a glass of something clear in her hand – perhaps lemonade, perhaps water.

"Not drinking?" Elsie asked, turning her head slightly to watch her.

"Just needed to freshen up. I think I ate too much cake."

"There is a lot of good stuff here. Not mine you understand." She chuckled. "Though it did all sell. Thank goodness."

"You're with him aren't you, Mr. Carson, I mean? You're the woman he spoke of in his speech."

Elsie rolled her eyes, feeling her face flush, "Goodness wasn't that embarrassing – sending you all to buy my wares. But yes, I am indeed," she held her hand across. "Elsie Hughes, soon to be Carson. Hopefully."

The girl shook her hand, "Ruth."

"Very nice to meet you."

"I just got recently got engaged myself, actually."

"Oh, how wonderful. When are you planning to marry?"

Ruth shrugged, "I'm not sure. Next year perhaps, in the midst of enjoying telling our friends and families at the moment."

Elsie smiled indulgently, remembering that wondrous feeling. "So, what are you doing here, Ruth? No offence but I often think…" She leant a little closer whispering, "Don't tell them, but I see cricket as a bit of an older person's thing. And bowls too."

The girl giggled, "Our secret. I work for the local press; I'm covering the story, nice little local interest thing. Revitalising the old bowling green, expanding the cricket club."

"I can see that." Elsie sipped her drink. "You're not going to print a picture of me are you? Or my terrible cakes?"

The girl smiled, "Not if you don't want me to." She twirled her glass in her palm, "I don't mind covering this; in fact, between you and I, well, I asked to."

"Oh. Why?" As much as she was glad for Charles to have something to really get into and excel at she wasn't exactly sure this was a really exciting news story – but then who knew with local papers.

"I'm not a bowls enthusiast." The girl smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose. "It's my family really, I've been doing some research for a while now, over two years, putting together my family tree and I found that my great, great grandfather was chairman here too. At the cricket club I mean."

"Oh, but that's wonderful," Elsie smiled, glad to talk history. "Do you have pictures of him?"

"Well I'm trying to get into the club's archives, that's really the reason I'm here, to dig. Difficult to get someone's time though, not that I blame them, everyone's so busy."

Elsie took a long drink of her spritzer and touched the girl's arm. "Come on."

They moved back into the main hall and Elsie scanned the room for tall men, for a familiar stature and thick sweep of greying hair.

When she spotted Charles she waved and he smiled and waved back. The girl looked on amused as Elsie rolled her eyes and sighed, this time her hand opening out towards him, two fingers beckoning him over. Within two seconds he'd crossed the busy room and was with her, one hand snaking across her shoulders turning her body into his as he kissed her forehead, "Sweetheart. What can I do for you?"

"Hi," she tapped his chest, turning his attention to the young woman. "Charles, this is Ruth."

"Glad to meet you." He held his hand out and Ruth gratefully shook it. She was a tall girl but even she looked up to his face, was caught off guard by the deep swell of his voice and kind eyes. She didn't think him attractive, not conventionally, but there was something about him, something she'd heard termed 'suave' and he had it in abundance it seemed, well he certainly did when he was with this woman whom he so obviously adored.

"Her great, great-grandfather was once chairman here and she's interested in looking through the archive photos, but finding it difficult to get anyone to show her around."

"Okay."

He felt Elsie's small hand press into his, insistent.

"Okay, alright of course, well, I can. I mean I could show you around, try to help. If you want to meet here one day."

Elsie smiled, sliding her arm around his back.

"That would be so wonderful, thank you. You're sure you can spare the time?" Ruth asked.

"Yes of course." He felt Elsie's hand squeeze him thankfully; _she_ had him wrapped around her little finger, never mind the coming baby. "Is there a particular day you'd prefer?"

"Erm, maybe Thursday, should I give you my number?"

He felt somebody touch his shoulder as he was about to answer, "Charles, the mayor's ready to have some photos taken."

"Oh right, erm…" He glanced to the young woman.

"It's alright, you go. I'll get her number." Elsie said.

"I want you in the photos," he said gently, turning to face her and Ruth watched as she smiled at him, at how her hand smoothed over his back soothingly, his expression as he looked at her with absolute adoration.

"I'll be there, just a minute, you go do the hand shaking bit." She kissed his cheek and sent him on his way. "Now, let me get my phone and you can just put it in there, I'll remind him to contact you on Monday." She handed her phone across, "Just type it in there for me."

"Thank you so much for that, so grateful." She said hastily typing in her number and checking it twice.

"It's really no bother, anything in the name of history." Elsie took her phone back. "Okay, there we go. I best go smile for the camera, remember, no horrid pictures of me in the article."

Ruth grinned nodding, "I'll remember."

"Lovely to meet you, Ruth, and good luck with the research."

"Thank you Mrs. Carson."

Elsie smiled to herself; today she actually _did _feel like Mrs. Carson and it was both exhilarating and, actually, completely normal.

* * *

Charles had napped since they got home, but she didn't mind. She left him on the sofa whilst she sat in the kitchen and worked. If she got it out of the way at least she'd have Sunday free.

It was the kittens that woke him, having been curled up beside him for the past two hours; they'd started to fight on his stomach once sleep had worn off. He woke to their baby growls and watched, amused, as they'd pounced back and forth at each other, their string-like tails puffed up as they tried – and failed – to intimidate the other.

"Now, come on you two." He finally said, reaching down to part them.

They dived onto the floor, tripping over each other as they rolled about on the rug in front of the fire. He turned onto his side, stretching his legs as he watched them in the dim light.

"What's going on in here?" Elsie whispered from the doorway.

"Kitty wars. At what age do they reach the stage where they just sleep all day and cause me no issues?"

"Oh, I think you're rather enjoying the issues."

He glanced up at her, "Come here for a bit."

"A bit?" But she was already moving towards him. "What ever for Mr Carson?"

"A cuddle." He shifted over; moving the pillows so there was room enough for her.

For a moment she looked down at him, soft and warm from sleep, his cheeks flushed, hair mussed.

"What?" He said gently, smiling up at her. "I look a state?"

"You look nice."

"You look comfortable. You're in your dressing gown."

"It's after nine. I figured we weren't going anywhere tonight so I might as well be comfortable."

"You er… naked under there?"

She smiled enigmatically, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He licked his lips, "Actually, yes." He opened his arms, "Come here."

Again she stepped forward, then paused, an idea taking hold. Moving quickly to the cabinet she found her iPad and scanned through the tracks – some album Anna had sent her ages ago, right before they went to Dubai. She remembered listening to the tracks whilst Charles was asleep on the coach.

"You putting some music on?"

"A-ha."

"Then you'll come for a cuddle?"

"Absolutely."

She did as promised and curled up beside him, her body half on top of his. Charles pulled the blanket over them and kissed her forehead.

"You're nice and warm." She mumbled against his chest.

"Mmm," he kissed her again, happy when she shifted her face up and her mouth met his, slowly, sensually. He was more than content to let that go on – endless kissing. His arms around her, her body pressed into his. The warmth and glow of the fire. The gentle beat of the music. A perfect Saturday night after a pretty good day.

She moaned something in the back of her throat and he felt his heart quicken. _Nerves? Excitement?_ He wasn't sure which.

Pushing on her shoulder he eased back from the kiss, feeling her leg curl around one of his, her heel dig into his shin.

"Hello," she whispered, her eyes clouded with desire.

"Hi."

She nudged his nose with hers, kissing him again.

"I'm not sure," he murmured, embarrassed to speak the words.

"What aren't you sure of, hmm?" Her fingers curled under his chin, nails tickling along his jawline. "Tell me what I can do."

He sucked in a tight breath, his blood pumping in his ears.

"Tell me what you want me to do." She kissed the underside of his jaw and his eyes closed of their own volition.

"You already do everything right."

"Do I?" She smiled; he thought how teasing she sounded. "So, I'm still sexy enough for you?"

His eyes shot open again, "Why would that have changed?"

"You know, we've been together over a year and a half now." She gave a slight shrug, "Things change. Relationships change."

"Believe me, Els, there is nothing I don't find sexy about you."

She allowed herself to momentarily enjoy the jolt of pride.

"Mmm," she lifted her leg, her thigh felt hot against his groin. "So, what can I do?"

He felt his cheeks redden as he shook his head, "What do you mean?"

"You know. People do things. Dress up." There was a playful tone to her voice now and she rolled over, crossing her arms on his chest so she could lean on them and look down at him.

"Are you suggesting we dress up?" His eyebrows rose as he said the words, his voice incredulous.

"No, you don't have to dress up." She giggled. "But I could. I mean, I would, if that's what you wanted."

"As what?" He was chuckling now, joining in with her mirth. "The nurse?"

She pulled a face, "I'd forgotten about that request. Too cliché. Besides I can't even swallow pills myself let alone administer care."

He let his hand trail heavily down her back, resting on her bottom. "I don't think that's the kind of care you administer."

She bit her lip, her mouth stretching into a smile. "Naughty school girl is off the table, okay, before you even think it. Too close to home. And I'd rather not become Suzy Quatro neither, despite your teenage crush, too much leather."

"I lusted after that woman." He said.

"Mmm, well, she can go on the list should things not work…" She looked sharply at him as she said it, regretful of the words. But when their eyes met they both laughed. "Okay, what else? What do men lust after? Breasts? Short skirts? Long hair?"

He shrugged.

"Don't shrug, you're a man. You should know."

"I have a fond memory of seeing you against my bedroom wall in nothing but stockings, heels and a bra."

"Ah, I know that memory. So, you want me to do that?"

He smiled at her earnest expression, "You don't have to do anything Els." He brushed her fringe back from her face, "There's nothing more beautiful to me."

"Beauty and sexiness are two different things."

"You have both." He said warmly.

She kissed his mouth again before smiling and sliding off the sofa, getting to her feet.

"Okay, now, I'm going to try this – for gods sake, don't bloody laugh!" She warned, pointing at him.

"Try what?" He folded his arms behind his head, shifting a little on the sofa to watch her better. "You're going to dance?" He was grinning.

"You have a look that says you can't believe your luck!"

He just grinned even more.

"Do I need to fetch some heels?"

He shook his head, twisting his tongue over in his mouth as she pulled the clip from her hair and let it tumble to her shoulders. Her hips moved so easily, left, right, left, right. Then as she closed her eyes, settled into the rhythm of the music her body, her movements, became fluid.

She giggled. Once. Twice. Awkward at first and then she looked at him and he was smiling – a mixture of deep affection and lust, right there in his eyes, shining in his eyes. She watched as his chest rose and fell. How his gaze travelled down her body as she moved, how it lingered where her hands slid against the robe she wore.

She twisted round; let the material swing around her. Just gently. Just enough. A flash of her legs._ 'I can't help it, love. The way we make love.'_

She let her fingers travel up over her breasts, heard his sharp intake of breath and she pushed the material aside; a glimpse of creamy breasts swathed in caramel coloured lace.

She watched through hooded eyes as he shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. _Alright, so she had him now._ He was transfixed as her fingers moved tantalisingly close to the tie on her robe, sliding the length of it across her palm. Finally pulling the knot apart and letting the material slide against her, flashes of skin, the curve of her belly, the cut of her panties. She let her head fall back, the robe slipping agonisingly slowly from her shoulders and to the floor.

He held his hand up, forward, to her, beckoning.

"Come here," he said huskily.

A coy smile upon her face she lowered herself back to the sofa, on top of him, his hands everywhere at once. Their kiss was deep and passionate, tongues meeting, tasting, licking. If he could consume her he would have.

Tenderly she let her hand wander down to the fastening of his trousers, he hadn't let her touch him there for weeks but he didn't seem to want her to stop. He pushed his pelvis up to his and she smiled so wonderfully against his mouth at the feel of his erection. _Oh god, thank you._

His fingers made short work of the fastening on her bra and it was sliding down her arms as she worked on his shirt buttons. He seemed to want to be on top and she moved with him, clumsily, both chuckling at the lack of space to manoeuvre. But then he was above her, between her thighs, and all seemed right with the world.

When their bodies slowly – _oh so slowly_ – joined, both groaned in unison, her body arching up to his, welcoming pleasure; his tingling with delight, with thanks. It had been so long. He'd missed her so much. She gasped his name, her hand in his hair. And he moved, long, slow strokes – every second committed to memory.

And that little word – _yes_ – breathed out into the air, into his ear, against his shoulder. Legs lifting, thighs tighter around his hips, driving him deeper inside.

"Yes, Charles." She kissed his cheek, suckled on his ear lobe, "love me."

And then… oh god, and then… he paused; her breathing hitched as she felt it and the moment was gone. Lost. And disappointment swelled as quickly as passion had.

"Oh fuck." He breathed, eyes tight. He slipped out of her, shame creeping into his chest, burrowing inside.

Her fingers flexed on his shoulders as she pushed down her desire. "Charles," she whispered tenderly.

"Don't say anything. I'm so embarrassed." He shook his head by the side of her face; his hands still braced on the pillow either side of her head. What a fool he felt. How useless.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed," she reached to cup his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Never. Not with me."

"What a let down."

She allowed a small smile, "Well, yes. But it's a start, isn't it." She bit her lip nervously – _was he ready to be light hearted about this? _"At least we know it still works." She tilted her head to the side to look at him, a glint in her eyes.

"Yeah." He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head again. "I guess there is that."

"It was nice," she said gently, her thumbs stroking his cheeks.

"While it lasted you mean. Give me another four months I may be able to manage an entire fifteen minutes."

She laughed, "Oh goodness." She kissed him lightly, rubbing his nose with hers, "I love you. You know that, right?"

"I do. You know it's not you."

She squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. She didn't want to apportion blame here. She knew that whatever was causing this was down to Charles' own fears following that accident – _realisations over mortality? The frailty of his body after so many years of being able to do whatever, whenever, he wanted?_ She was no therapist and he didn't need her to be. Just to be there. Supportive. Carrying him through the difficult times.

He moved, and she twisted onto her side, squished up against the back of the sofa as he lay beside her.

"You want a drink?" He asked.

"Not yet, let's just cuddle for a while." She nestled against him, kissed his chest. "Hold me."

He pulled the blanket up over them and held her tight against him.

"I'm sorry," he finally said.

"Don't ever apologise to me over this." She said, bringing her face up to his. "If you break one of my good dishes or forget my birthday or some other disaster then yes, apologise, but not this."

He smiled, "So breaking your good dishes is considered a disaster?"

"That and folding the corners on the bed sheet in the wrong way."

"You're wonderful you know."

"And so are you. All you did today, you made that happen in a week and raised what – almost two thousand pounds through cakes, games and auctions."

"Years of being a spectator have taught me well. That's all."

"It's not all. It's a skill. There's a reason the club want you to be the one who runs this thing – because you'll do it well."

He listened to her, enjoyed the feel of her in his arms, her face so close to his. Her support was everything and she'd been there today, by his side, even though it wasn't really her thing. Just as she had been since January, since the heart attack and that awful accident.

"I'm scared." He admitted.

"What of?" He felt her hands tighten on his back. "Not running this thing?"

He gave a slight shake of his head, "No. The baby. All this talk of being a grandpa, what if I don't know what to do? Never been near kids really. Only Richard's."

"Oh honey. Everybody feels like that. Nobody knows what to do. You just do your best. Don't you think Anna and John feel the same?"

"Well, yes but…"

"But what?"

"But they're the parents, they'll always be the parents."

Her brow furrowed, "And you won't always be the grandpa?"

"There's…him…isn't there. There's…Joe."


	47. Chapter 47

_**All i can say is sorry for the delay - back at work now = rubbish!**_

* * *

**Chapter 47**

**1990**

It took some effort for Elsie to push herself up and out of her chair. So much so that she stood for a moment, leaning on the back of the chair in order to catch her breath.

Her ankles were so swollen she felt like she could hardly move her feet and the pain in her hips was unbearable. For almost seven and a half months it had been a relatively straightforward pregnancy. No real sickness. No backache or odd cravings. Now, as she approached her delivery date, she felt like her entire body had been blown up.

She set off across the lounge heading for the kitchen. She needed tea and a snack, preferably something sweet. It was a long, slow Saturday. She couldn't do very much of anything anymore and, even though the nursery was ready to go, she felt agitated, as if she should be filling every second of her day with useful tasks before the birth. Packing in as much as she could before she ran out of time.

There was no point in denying it or pretending any different – she was nervous, in fact, terrified. The thought of having this new life reliant on her. Another human being completely dependent on her. At times it became too much. Whenever she watched the news she started to fear what kind of world her child would grow up in. The things she couldn't control or protect them from.

She'd just settled back into her chair and opened the mini roll when the telephone rang. Pushing heavily on the arms of the recliner she got to her feet once again and headed for the phone table, answering it after the sixth ring.

"Hello?"

"Is he there?" A female voice, young, agitated.

"Who?" Elsie leant back against the wall.

"Joseph of course. Is he there?"

Elsie swallowed, licked her lips. "I'm his wife. Whom, may I ask, is calling?"

"Oh, never mind." She said, irritated. "I'll call him at the pub."

The line went dead and Elsie stood helplessly, the receiver dangling in her hand. After a minute or two she put it down and moved to sit, glancing up at the clock, 19:35 and she'd been on her own all day.

She picked up the cake and then put it aside again, no longer hungry. The woman's, maybe even girl's, voice kept going round and round in her brain. Who was she? What did she want? And where was Joe? Which pub? How did she know he'd be there? Elsie had assumed he'd been at the farm all day working.

A sharp kick to her abdomen reminded her of the life so close to being in her arms and she rested her hand on her bulging stomach feeling the ripple of movement beneath her skin.

Some things were more important to her than worrying where her husband was. Every kick and movement concerned her now, wondering if this was it, if her baby would be born that day, that night.

Oddly, it never even occurred to her to worry about the fact that she might be alone when she went into labour or that she might end up giving birth alone without Joe at her side. She had no fears regarding the birth; in fact the thought of it comforted her.

She'd no longer be alone in the world.

* * *

**Present Day – April**

Hunched up on the couch Elsie huffed, frustrated as she lifted one sheet of paper, laid it on the floor and then started on the next. Report checking: dull, repetitive and time-consuming. And certainly no way to spend a Sunday morning.

She'd already been at it for almost two hours and her usual speed and patience with such a task had passed its limit a long time ago.

Leaning back, she stretched out her legs and chewed on the end of her pen as she scanned through the document.

At the other side of the house she heard a door open, and then Charles' mumbled voice – clearly he was chatting to the kittens. She smiled, taking the pen from her mouth; as much as he'd protested about getting them he was absolutely smitten. He'd been gardening all morning and the pair of them hadn't left his side, following him around from border to border as he chatted to them and pulled up weeds.

She jerked her head back as she felt something cold tap her cheek and closed her eyes as William brushed his head across her face.

"Well, hello baby." She cooed, kissing his damp fur. "You been rolling in the grass have you?"

"Hey, get down from there." Charles chided as he entered the room. "Your paws are filthy."

"Daddy told you off, didn't he?" Elsie teased, reaching round to rub his neck. "Well, you just ignore him and do what the hell you want."

"They always bloody do." He lifted William from the arm of the sofa. "Go on, there's tuna in the kitchen." He said, sending him on his way.

"Tuna?" Elsie questioned. "Spoiling them?"

He shrugged, lifting her feet and seating himself on the end of the couch, her feet placed in his lap. "It's Sunday."

"It is indeed. So that'll mean roast chicken later, I believe?"

He smiled, yes there was a chicken sitting in the fridge waiting for him to prepare for dinner, as she very well knew. "They don't necessarily need to have any…"

"Ah, but we both know you'll cave in eventually and let them have it." She wiggled her feet against his leg until he started to rub them.

What are you doing?" He asked, watching her face.

"Checking reports."

"Looks dull."

"Painfully so." She sat back, slipping her glasses off as his thumb pressed into the muscle below her big toe. "That feels good."

"Can I have you for a while?" He asked hopefully, shaking his head as she smirked at him. "Not like _that_." He shook his head. "Always filthy."

"Filthy!" She dug her heel into his leg. "What do you want me for?"

"Well, as odd as it may seem in these modern times, I rather fancy spending some time with the woman I live with."

"What a revolutionary idea." She smiled.

"Isn't it? I believe it's a called a 'relationship.'"

"Ahh, so that's where I've been confused." Lifting her feet from his lap she leant over and deposited the rest of her form reports on the coffee table, before curling her legs beneath her and leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "What do you want to do with me?"

He resisted the urge to once again mourn the fact that whatever he wanted to do with her in the comfort of their bedroom still remained elusive to him, and instead brushed her hair back from her face. "Go for a walk. It's been a nice morning, you've missed it sitting in here."

"That sounds nice. I guess we do have all this beautiful countryside around us to indulge in."

"Nothing better. A Sunday walk then roast chicken for a late dinner." He kissed her. "Go get changed then Ms Hughes."

"Will you still call me that when we're married?"

"_When_ being the operative word."

"Mmm, I guess we should consider a date. I had thought…" she bit her lip, "…we could try and book for next Easter."

She actually thought he pouted.

"An entire year away."

"I know. But it gives us time to plan things, make sure we get what we want. The church, you said yourself, is always booked up early." She squeezed his hand. "It'll go fast."

"I suppose so." He shrugged, "Still, it'll seem forever."

"Honey, we've waited this long."

"My patience must know no bounds. Took me seventeen years just to get a date – what does another year matter?"

She laughed, "Good way to look at it. I'll go change."

"You spoke to Anna today?"

"Yes," she got up from the couch, stretching her back – a couple of hours walking would do her good. "Nothing's happened. She's fed up but fine. Reminded me of myself at this stage – bloated and fed up. Only at least she knows John is completely devoted to her."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it." She saw the look that passed over his face and stopped herself. They didn't shut each other out of anything anymore. Not even when it was an awkward or painful topic. They'd made that particular promise on a freezing cold beach in Cornwall. "When I was due to give birth to Anna, literally weeks away, I realised Joe was sleeping with other women. Well, at that time I thought just another woman."

"Does that…" he swallowed, sat forward on the sofa. "Does it still bother you?"

She folded her arms across her chest, "Not in the way you think. It bothers me that I ignored it, that I knew and didn't confront it. But then, it bothers me that I put up with so much. I convinced myself it was okay, you know, that it was just how marriage was." She stepped forward, her knees resting against his. "I never dreamt there could be this kind of relationship."

He gave a slight nod of his head. "Thank you for telling me."

"I'll tell you anything now, you know that, you only need ask." She reached forward and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll go change, we can talk more if you want, as we walk."

* * *

"Tell me, why you're worried about him." She asked later, when they were breathing deeply from climbing the hill, their cheeks ruddy and chapped.

He'd strode ahead, and she'd followed more slowly, watching him dig his hands into his coat pockets as he gazed out at the view. They could see all the way down to their house – how small it looked in the distance – it made her realise how lucky they were though, surrounded by all this peace and beauty.

"Sometimes, I feel he's like some spectre – like I'm waiting for him to make an appearance."

"Good lord, Charles, you don't think I'd ever go back…?"

"No, no, not that." He turned to face her, his hair blowing forward in the breeze. "Of course not that."

"Then what?" She crossed over to him, hooking her arm through his as they began walking again.

"I don't know. It's irrational really."

"But you're going to tell me anyway." She instinctively held him tighter, pressing into his side.

He smiled, of course he was. "I worry sometimes, that somehow he can still have an influence. Ruin what we have. What _I've_ finally got. I know that sounds ridiculous, maybe even selfish."

"It doesn't, and he won't. I won't let him. He's out of my life."

"But not Anna's, and by extension, yours, ours. This baby will know him as granddad."

"He or she will know _you_ as granddad."

"I don't want to be in competition. I don't want to feel I'm being compared to him."

She was quiet for a while mulling this – irrational or not these fears were in his head and she wasn't entirely sure how she could calm them. She couldn't promise Joe wouldn't be in the baby's life. According to Anna he'd turned a corner, had reached out and offered the olive branch.

"He has his own life," she finally plumped for. "A wife, a son on the way."

"Does that bother you? Him having a child with somebody else at his age when you and I…"

She narrowed her eyes, "Does it bother you? Surely you aren't jealous of him?"

"No, of course not. Well, not in that way."

"In what way then?"

He turned his face away from her, embarrassed by his own stupidity, it sounded childish now to say the words aloud. "That he had you for all those years, as a wife. That he had so long with you. And he treated you badly and I would've…" He sucked in a tight breath, "I would've cherished you, you know, I just would've –,"

She touched his hand, "You don't have to explain. I know. But you have no reason to be jealous of him Charles. What we've shared over just two years has been far more powerful and significant than all those years with him. You do know that, don't you?" She stopped their walk, making him turn to face her. "I've never believed in soul mates Charles, it seems an altogether ridiculous idea considering how many people are on the planet. But you are in my heart. In my soul. And that won't ever change."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, eyes closed.

"He never even got close." She added. "The longer we were together, the less of my heart he had."

He nodded, kissing her again. "And this baby, his son?"

"I have no reason to feel jealous of that, never, I made my choice…"

"What choice?"

"That I wouldn't have anymore children with him. I chose not to."

His brow furrowed, "You _chose_ not to?"

Nodding, she tugged on his arm, moving them forward through the thickening grass.

"I knew, pretty much as soon as I'd given birth to Anna, that I didn't want anymore. Not with him. All that time I'd been able to ignore the reality of it all. And then with her there, totally reliant upon me, I had to face things. And there was no way I wanted another child – I didn't even want my daughter in that environment. So I spent the next twenty years trying to hide it all away from her. Protect her." She shrugged. "Contraception wasn't the best option in the situation, I had to hide it from him, but it was all I could do and besides, I don't think he really cared. I tried different things over the years, saw different Doctors. I guess, just like any other normal woman, trying not to get knocked up."

"There was nothing normal about any of that Elsie, nothing."

She paused for a moment, letting his words turn over in her mind as they set off back down the other side of the hill. "Yes, I know."

* * *

**1990**

It had only been five weeks, five short weeks, and yet her life had changed irrevocably.

With the announcement that she'd had a girl, with the sound of the first sharp cry and gulp of oxygen, her heart loved completely for the first time. That squirming weight placed on her chest with dark eyes and fair hair and a scrunched up rosebud mouth and everything had changed. There was nothing she wouldn't do, nowhere she wouldn't go, nothing she wouldn't try to get for her.

_Anna_. Her grandmother's name. It had been so easy, in the end, to decide.

Things had been better between her and Joe, oddly. Like her, he'd fallen in love, and she wondered, when she sat and watched him bathe Anna in the baby bath set up in the lounge by the fire, if he'd ever loved before. If he'd ever loved her.

She thought she loved him. When they'd met and he'd promised her the world and saved her from the farm and her parents – it had felt like love then. And there were times, when he'd hold her at night watching television or bring her flowers home and dance to the songs on the radio, it felt like love then. But that love appeared fleeting, as changeable as the weather. At times strong, at times fulfilling and passionate. Other times that love was painful, suffocating, and she wanted to be rid of it. Times her heart ached, times when she felt emptied by his love.

In contrast, her love for Anna was pure. Consuming. As boundless as the very air that she breathed.

When he'd come to her, four weeks and four days exactly after giving birth, slightly drunk, and woke her for sex, she'd kept her eyes closed. He'd pushed up her nightgown and she'd let him get it over with because that's what you did, as a wife, that's what was required of you.

After, he'd slept beside her, one arm on the pillow by her head and she'd stared at his nails – dirty from working on the farm – and felt the faint tang of disgust in the back of her throat.

She rolled out of bed, gave Anna her feed, and rocked back and forth on the chair in the nursery with her daughter in her arms. She remembered snatched conversations from when she was a child, out with her mother and her aunts shopping one Saturday and there had been a café in the afternoon and she'd had strawberry milk and shortbread and swung her legs as she sucked on the straw in her glass.

And the women had been laughing, giggling, and she hadn't understood why, what was so funny. But she'd kept quiet as she'd listened and drunk her milk, seven years old and blind to the ways of the world. And her mother had said something about having to put up with it, it was what wives did. Everyone did it. Every woman did it. And they'd all laughed.

She'd wondered what every woman did. What every woman put up with. But smiled along with them.

When she was fourteen she remembered keenly studying Mercutio's Queen Mab speech in her Literature class: "_This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, that presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage_." And by then she understood what it all meant. She'd heard enough, seen enough.

As a child she'd always felt distant from her mother, not unloved, just at arm's length. As a teenager she didn't understand her, at times she hated her for the decisions she made. As a wife perhaps she understood her better. Choice wasn't always so straightforward or clear cut. Some choices were made when your back was up against the wall and a knife at your throat. Some paths were rocky and painful but still easier than the alternative.

It was the woman's role to bear. And lord knows there were things her mother had bore that Elsie never could. At least her husband didn't beat her. At least her husband loved his daughter.

Marriage wasn't all hearts and flowers. No literary romance. The reality of it was harsher. She'd learnt that as a child, watching her parents maneuver around each other like birds of prey. Maybe, when she was just twenty and preparing to wed, she'd imagined her marriage a different way. Had pictured a partnership, lifelong companionship and respect, but the years had taught her not to expect too much.

Life would go on. And she had this now, motherhood, more precious than anything else could ever be.

* * *

**Present Day – Sunday evening**

Elsie had finished her work when they returned from their walk, Charles had prepared dinner, and by the time it was ready she'd packed her school bag and left it in the hall ready for Monday morning. They had an evening together and she looked forward to it.

They'd shared wine over dinner and she was glad they'd been no more talk of Joe. They'd spoke over the changes that were coming – of summer with a baby, of their first Christmas as grandparents, of their potential wedding come the following Easter.

After doing the dishes she'd gone for a shower, leaving him to warm treacle sponge and make custard.

Her eyes were closed and her face under the faucet when she heard the door open. She didn't turn, waited for the touch of his fingers against her spine before she made any sign she knew he was there.

"I thought you were making dessert," she said gently.

She felt his lips touch her shoulder, the brush of his Sunday stubble against her damp skin.

"It can wait." His arms curled around her waist, his belly pressing against her lower back.

For a long time they remained that way, him holding her whilst the warm water swam down her body, surrounded by the fragrant steam.

"I'm sorry for earlier." He said, his lips against the side of her neck, her wet hair against his face.

She turned slowly in his arms, sliding her hands up his chest and lacing her fingers together against the back of his neck, "You've nothing to apologise for. Nothing."

Lifting her face to his she kissed him soundly, the water on their lips mingling.

"He isn't our life Charles, he never will be."

"Sometimes I feel like… like we're not quite rid of him. You aren't."

"I've spent enough on therapy this year to realise I am. Sometimes, alright yes, maybe there are things I'd like to say, questions I'd like answering. But then I realise I don't need to know, I don't need answers." She bit her lip, pondering her next comment. "In ways I still blame myself," she finally admitted.

He frowned, "Oh, but you mustn't. Never."

"I know," she nodded, "but I let him, I lived that life and I accepted it. I thought that was what marriage was, that everyone was hiding something behind closed doors. I was raised thinking that's what wives did. They coped and put up with things. They didn't speak out. It took me many, many years to realise how wrong I was. And by then it didn't matter anymore."

"Why not?" He asked, keeping his voice neutral, being careful.

"Because it had stopped, for the most part. I was older and he had other women. I feel guilty though… you know, I often wonder if he'd hurt other women, girls, and for that I feel guilty."

"You have to be selfish every now and then Els, heal yourself and not the world."

"I feel healed." She said. "I know I'd never go through anything like it again. I'm stronger. I'd fight. And you know what," she tickled the back of his neck. "I'm incredibly happy. That's not down to any amount of therapy."

He swayed her against him. "You do realise I've never had this before?" He said. "I've never been this close to anybody – in every sense of the word. As close as two people possibly can be."

She smiled broadly, "And you think I have been? Charles this is as new for me as it is for you."

"Pretty wonderful, isn't it?"

She nodded, her smile stretching, "Yes. Pretty wonderful." She ran her hand down his back. "Now, who's washing whose back first?"

* * *

**Late 1990**

"Well, Mrs Burns, you seem to be doing very well." The doctor said as he moved around his desk and took a seat. "And Anna too, are you managing to get some sleep?"

"Yes. Thank you. We've got our routine now."

"Good. Good." He muttered, scribbling on his notes.

"That wasn't the reason I made an appointment though."

"Oh?"

"The thing is Doctor, I…" She bit her lip, looked at Anna for a moment asleep in the pram beside her and then resolutely said, "I don't want any more children."

The Doctor smiled indulgently, "It can be quite daunting Mrs. Burns, especially the first year. I'm sure many new mothers have felt that way."

"No Doctor, I'm not… I appreciate what you're saying but I'm not feeling overwhelmed or stressed about having Anna, she's the most precious thing, I couldn't ask for a better baby. That's not the reason. Look I just know I don't want any more children."

"Well, of course we can discuss contraception and what would be best for you."

"I want to be sterilised." She interrupted.

The doctor's mouth fell open as he stared across the desk at the pretty young lass. "You're a healthy woman Mrs. Burns we don't just…we can't just sterilise."

"That's what I want."

"There are plenty of other less permanent answers."

"Are any of them 100%?"

"Well, I…"

"Are they?"

He shook his head. "We can't guarantee one hundred percent. But some are –,"

"That's what I want."

The doctor folded his hands atop of his paper work. "Is there something you want to tell me, Elspeth? Something I can maybe help with?"

She looked to her lap and squeezed her hands together shaking her head, "I just don't want to be caught."

"I feel there's more to this," he prodded, "and I can't help if I don't know what it is."

She snapped her head up, steely blue eyes meeting his, "I've made my decision doctor. Will you help me or not?"

The doctor licked his lips, feeling heavy-hearted as he delivered his words, "I can't. I'm afraid. There's no reason for it, none at all. I can help you with contraception, we can discuss that now, arrange it before you leave. That's all I can offer, I'm afraid."

She got to her feet, turning from him, needing space. Beside her Anna gurgled in her sleep and she instinctively moved to check her, placing a hand gently on her daughter's stomach. "My husband can't know," she whispered, without looking up.

He doctor nodded, "Nobody needs to know Elspeth."

* * *

**Present Day – Monday**

She's bolt upright at the first ring of the phone, the lamp on, the receiver in her hand.

Charles is bleary. His eyelids heavy and refusing to co-operate as he turns the clock to face him, 3:44, who the hell rings at 3:44 in the morning?

And then it dawns and he's out of bed and pulling on trousers and she's looking at him with her head tilted to one side, chewing the end of her thumbnail as she listens to the person on the other end of the line.

"What are you doing?" She mouths.

He stops. Shrugs. Because he doesn't know really. He doesn't even know who's on the phone; let alone what they're saying.

When she puts the receiver down she's smiling at her, bright-eyed.

"What's happening?" He feels frustrated, like the whole world knows something he doesn't and they're purposefully leaving him in the dark.

"She's in labour. We can head to the hospital."

"Okay. Right." He zipped his trousers up. "Good."

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed."

"You've not put any pants on." She smirked.

"Haven't I?" He unzipped again and checked. "You're right. I haven't."

Chuckling, she crawled across the bed to him, kneeling and resting her hands on his shoulders. "Honey, you need to relax. Don't get agitated. Don't worry. It's a good hospital, Anna's a healthy girl, the pregnancy has gone fine. And besides, I need you calm in order to keep me calm. Okay?"

He nodded, his mouth dry. "Okay."

"Let's get dressed then. Get over there."

"What day is it?"

"Monday. I'll need to contact work and tell them I'm not going in."

"Monday's child, fair of face." He said, finding out a shirt and turning to look at Elsie brushing her hair. "Though, I would never doubt that. Look at his or her grandma."

"Ha. Yes, bags under her eyes and in need of a shower when I greet the child. You want to have a bet before we go? Boy or girl?"

He shook his head, "You wouldn't bet the whole way through, _now_ you will?"

She shrugged, "Didn't want to risk anything. So, what do you think?"

"I don't know. I'm not guessing." He huffed, buttoning up his shirt.

"Spoil sport." She pulled a dress on, watching him in the mirror. "Charles. He won't be there, you know. You don't have to worry."

He looked up, holding her gaze. "I know. I'll worry anyway though, about other things."

"Such a sweetheart." She finished his top buttons for him, smoothing his collar. "Who'd have thought two years ago we'd be in this position?"

"Who would have? Two years ago I was lonely and slipping rapidly through middle-age. Wondering if I'd ever pluck up the courage to ask you out."

She smiled gently, "And a year ago, Dubai, and everything changed."

"Everything changed."

She leant up and kissed him, "Shall we go, then?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky as they parked. Shards of orange speckled the milky sky and Elsie took his hand as they crossed to the entrance, interlacing her fingers with his.

"Don't get nervous now," he whispered, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Just for this walk to the ward, then my brave face will be on. Promise."

And she was true to her word. As soon as they were shown to Anna's room the nerves were pushed aside and a bright, sunny demeanour adopted. Charles couldn't help but marvel at it; she sure could act when the need arose.

"Ahh, hello, hello, hello, my darling!" She chirped as she entered the room, leaving him outside in the corridor feeling redundant.

"You seem high for four-thirty in the morning mother, have you been smoking pot?"

"Ha bloody ha, where you get this cheek from I have no idea." She kissed Anna's head, resting her hand on her forehead as she'd done ever since she was a child. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit and scared as hell – you?"

"Yeah, pretty similar. But don't tell anyone."

Anna suddenly reached over and held her mum's hand and whispered seriously. "You won't leave now, will you?"

"In for the long haul honey."

"Where's Charles?" Anna said, looking around.

"In the corridor, he felt odd about coming in."

"Why? The only time he should feel odd is when my legs are up in the air and there's all sorts of weird stuff coming out of me."

"Such as our baby?" John laughed, sitting beside the bed and handing Anna a beaker of water.

"Such as blood and weird gunky stuff."

"Best not mention that to Charles. Think of his heart." Elsie said softly.

"Fetch him in, I want to talk to him." Anna insisted.

Putting down her things Elsie went back out, he'd wandered off down the corridor and she called his name, beckoning him from the door.

He'd never much liked hospitals, he knew everyone said that and he hated to be a cliché, but it was the truth of the matter and he was nothing if not honest. It was the smell, more than anything, a mix of something like bleach and aeroplane food and then the faces of everyone you passed – always misery, always stress.

Nobody wanted to be there. Even the staff, it seemed.

And besides, he'd had rather a recent experience with this hospital, one he didn't wish to repeat in a hurry, and being there reminded him of how it felt to be an invalid.

"She wants to talk to you."

"What, now?" He felt his face flush. "What for?"

"I don't know." She patted his cheek. "Don't worry so. She isn't naked or screaming in agony yet, you'll be fine."

When they entered the room John got up and headed to get hot drinks, leaving the three of them alone.

Anna indicated his empty chair and Charles sat down, feeling a little like a schoolboy.

"I want to talk about the shop." Anna said. "You mentioned that I could bring in some art and I've been thinking more and more about it."

"You want to talk about that _now_?" He asked, confused.

"Yes. I want to get on with it. As soon as I get home, I'd like to start clearing the second floor, make some room, you know."

Charles nodded, but glanced over at Elsie who shook her head and shrugged, implying he should just go with it.

"You know I'll come work with John, you know that." He said earnestly. "You'll need time with the baby and it'll be busy, I know that. I can manage a few days helping out."

"No, that's not what I mean. What I mean is of course we want the baby with us, and we think we can work it, we've got our system in the shop now and it works for us. But we thought, well, maybe if you don't mind, you could have him or her a few hours a week. When it's bigger of course."

Elsie was re-folding Anna's clothes and laying them in her travel bag as she listened, she knew that as soon as she held that baby in her arms she wouldn't want it out of her sight for even a second let alone hours at a time. But she bit her tongue, there were times you had to let your children discover things for themselves and this was clearly one of those times.

"I hadn't thought of it." Charles said honestly. "I'd never imagined you'd want me to."

"Well, can you think of it now?"

"I guess –," Charles didn't get the chance to finish his sentence because Anna suddenly grabbed his hand and squeezed the hell out of his fingers.

"Oh shit!" She cried, her head falling back. "Mum!"

"I'm right here sweetheart." She took her other hand, "Breathe, see, how we practised… There we go. Nice and steady." She looked over to where Charles stood at the opposite side, gripping Anna's hand, his face white, eyes wide. "One. Two. Three." She counted calmly.

Anna's eyes were closed and Elsie watched as Charles' free hand came up to rest on Anna's forehead, his thumb gently brushing back and forth as he focussed on her face.

"Okay, see, there we go. Almost over." She let out a deep breath as she felt Anna's hand soften in hers. "Not too bad, was it?"

"It's fucking awful!" Anna moaned. "Why the fuck would anyone do this more than once?"

"Definitely your daughter." Charles said deadpan, still holding Anna's hand, and the two women looked at his serious expression and collapsed with laughter.

* * *

Charles was beginning to wonder what would give in first – his frayed nerves, his picked nails or the soles of his shoes as he paced back and forth.

It had been almost two hours since he'd seen Elsie and nobody had told him a thing. One nurse had relieved another, opening and closing the sterile, white door. Relatives on corridors had sipped tepid tea from polystyrene cups. Newspapers had been read. The radio listened to.

_And behind the door life is coming into the world,_ he kept thinking, _behind that door was all of his life._

He's sitting with his head in his hands when he hears his name come from a stranger's voice, "Mr Carson?" And he stands immediately, abruptly, facing the young nurse.

"Yes? She's okay? Anna?" He realises his voice is gruff, the exterior adopted to cover the internal fear.

The nurse smiled sympathetically, "She's fine. I think you're wanted in there." She pushed the door slightly and it took him a moment to move from the spot. His hands were in his pockets and he almost shuffled forward, feet like lead. His heartbeat appeared to have adopted a strange rhythm and there was a ringing in his ears. He wondered if this were the on-set of another heart attack – _Lord, please no_ – or just that he might faint.

He lifted his hands from his pockets, took a deep breath and pushed the door, the nurse remaining outside as he stepped in.

To his right – Anna. Propped up in bed, exhausted and flushed, John beside her, his arm about her shoulders, her head lolling against him.

Before him, Elsie. Facing him. Standing in front of the large window. With the early morning sunshine framing her she appeared ethereal to him.

"Hello, granddad." She spoke softly, and his eyes cast down for the first time to the tiny bundle of white cradled safely in her arms. He swallowed, felt something burst in his chest he'd never encountered before.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out and Elsie stepped towards him, crossing the short distance between them.

"I think there's somebody who'd like to meet you."

He lifted his arms instinctively, felt her press this tiny weight into the crook of his arm.

"Your granddaughter." She said gently.

He couldn't lift his eyes from the baby's face. Her scrunched up nose and pursed red lips, the blotchy skin, the wide, dark eyes. Instant love.

"Charles," he heard Elsie say, her voice cracking, and then he felt her fingers brush his cheek. He realised he was crying and he snuffled, embarrassed.

"A girl." He finally said. "And she's here."

Elsie smiled widely, her hand gripping his elbow as they looked down at the baby together. "She is. And she's perfect. Beautiful and healthy."

He lifted his head up, looked to Anna. "And you are…?"

She smiled crookedly, "Exhausted and in need of a shower." But then she added, "Happy." And Charles nodded in recognition, the word didn't come close.

John kissed her head, "Should we tell them what we decided?" He asked gently, his fingers laced with hers.

"A name?" Elsie asked hopefully.

"We'd already picked before she was born but now…" He looked up at the pair of them, standing there holding his minutes old daughter. "It is pretty perfect."

"It is." Anna agreed. "We thought we'd call her Charlotte."

Elsie heard Charles gasp, his strangled attempt to hold in his tears, it wouldn't do to sob in front of them.

"Charlotte Elspeth Carson." Anna finished.

"Oh my goodness." Elsie's voice was a whisper as she brushed her little finger against the baby's cheek. "Our namesake."

"Quite wonderful." Charles said, and she felt him lean in to kiss her head.

Sometimes she forgot John was a Carson. For years he'd adopted his mother's surname – Bates – but as time had gone on and he'd resolved his issues with his father, he'd finally taken his birth name, his given name. How perfect it seemed now, that Charlotte would be a Carson, as would Elsie, and maybe, likely, Anna too.

She laughed suddenly, and Charles looked up at her questioningly.

"You worried so about Carson's books not being that anymore." She shrugged. "It just occurred to me it still is."

"And likely to remain that way for the foreseeable." John added and for the first time Elsie regarded this man with an entire feeling of affection. That he'd come into their lives and caused such disruption still rattled her, but he adored her daughter, he'd taken over Charles' beloved shop, giving him peace of mind, and now there was this – her granddaughter – the most precious gift.

They left not long after, reluctantly. But Charlotte slept and Anna needed rest and they'd be thrown out before long by the staff. Elsie snapped pictures on her phone, had a moment alone with her girls, and then they said their goodbyes and promised to return in the afternoon if allowed.

* * *

In the car park, by the side of the hospital, she'd stopped and pulled him into a hug and he'd cried openly then on her shoulder. Relief, happiness, love, cascading into one overwhelming feeling.

Nothing would ever be the same again. He'd never be alone again. Never empty.

"I can't tell you how much I love you," he whispered by her ear. "What you've given me..."

She took his face in her hands, brushing his tears away with her thumbs, offering him a watery smile.

"Let's go home." She said softly.

They crawled into bed as the rest of the country was heading to work. The kittens fed and chasing each other in the kitchen. Their clothes discarded as they curled beneath the cool sheets, exhausted and overwhelmed.

* * *

Elsie lay with her head against his chest, staring up at the ceiling, glad of his presence, of his arms around her. She needed that security now, when she was emotional and shaky.

In a way she couldn't really imagine having to go through all of this alone, but then there were so many things she'd never imagined herself doing over the years and somehow she'd managed, somehow she'd made it through. She'd realised that she was a lot stronger than she ever thought she could be.

"My daughter's a mother," she whispered. "And I can't quite believe that."

"I can't believe there's a little person in the world, only been in this world a couple of hours, and I've never loved anything more." He said honestly, and once again she was glad he was so open and honest with everything. It had pained her so when he'd shut off from her following the accident, it was so unlike him and she'd missed their bond.

His hand folded with hers and she closed her eyes, recalling the sound of the first cry, so like when Anna was born. The feel of Charlotte in her arms, the smell of her, the colour of her eyes.

"Her hair's going to be the same colour as yours." He said.

"What makes you think that? She could be blonde like Anna."

"I'm telling you, I can tell."

"And will you do it?" She asked as she turned over, her chest pressed to his. "What Anna asked?"

"I don't know, what if I'm bad at it? A poor carer?"

"That's likely, is it? Look at how you've cared for our babies."

"Kittens are slightly easier to handle."

"That's not what you said at the start."

He smiled, threading his hand into her hair. "I can admit when I'm wrong."

"That's a first."

"You know you bully me."

"Do I?" She pushed herself up so she could reach his mouth. "I am sorry about that, honey, because I love you very much." She kissed his chastely. "I'd never mean to bully you for even a second." She kissed him again before sliding back, meaning to return to her earlier position, but he held her upper arms, kissed her properly.

"Don't go anywhere yet Elspeth."

"That poor girl with my name."

"Lucky, lucky girl." He said, rolling her onto her side and moving with her, his arms encircling her waist.

She mirrored the hold, pressing against him, enjoying the long, lazy kisses, all the more meaningful in their current blissful state.

When his leg pushed between hers and his knee nudged her thigh, she was more surprised than anything else. There'd been nothing of that nature since the disaster on the couch – and he'd been so vey crestfallen, so very embarrassed over it all, that she'd hadn't pushed the issue.

So now, feeling him against her leg and his obvious need for her, filled her with yet more joy.

Nothing was rushed or forced. Gentle kisses deepening to passionate ones, fingers upon skin, practiced movements and familiar sensations.

Rolling over and him falling with her, over her, inside her. Her gasped name upon his lips, the reverent way he showered kisses over her chest, her breasts, her neck. Slow and easy as they made love in the morning light. Her fingers grasping his shoulder, her thighs curling around his waist and everything worked – as natural as it could be.

After, when he was lying on top of her, mumbling words of devotion against her neck as she stroked his back, she suddenly burst into fits of laughter and he looked up to her face in confusion and concern.

"What? Not my best performance but marginally better than last time, surely?"

She held a hand up to cover her mouth as she giggled, "No, not that. It's just…" She laughed again.

"What?"

"Well, we're grandparents now. We shouldn't be doing this. Sex at mid-morning. And like every cliché before it when something is forbidden it's a whole lot more enticing, and suddenly you can… you know."

He raised his eyebrows at her, "I don't care what caused it. And I'm not even that bothered that it didn't last that long. All I know is it's working again and I thank God it is."

She laughed even more at the clash between his stoic face and words straight from a teenage-boy's guide to sex.

"You're still laughing at me."

She shook her head, then nodded, her giggles turning to hysteria. "I'm so happy Charles." She gasped, her arms lifting to hug him. "So unbelievably happy."

* * *

_**3 to go...**_


	48. Chapter 48

Rapidly approaching the conclusion of this story and I'm already feeling nostalgic!

**TW** in this chapter for violence and threat

Thanks to **_theoofoof_** for helping out with this fanfic website nonsense and **_writingqueen197__9_** for general prodding until I got this done...oh yeah, and for the Cromwell heads up ;-) xx

* * *

**Chapter 48**

**June 2016**

**Friday**

Charles Carson had always thought himself a patient man. After all he'd had decades of dealing with the great British public in his shop – a feat in itself considering the purple rinse brigade and their ever-increasing list of needs. But these days his patience was in short order.

True, things had come on quite a way since January. His plans for the bowling club were well under way and it felt good to be running something again, to be at the hub of it. Added to that he'd re-booted his book group, or rather two of them, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it felt especially nice to return to the shop and indulge his passion for discussion and reading.

But that wasn't the real cause of his joy. No. That rested solely on a little bundle that squirmed and cried and wriggled in his arms. The weight that would happily sleep in the crook of his arm for many hours regardless of his discomfort. The tiny face that gazed up at his, squinting, blinking, smiling – well, he told himself it was a smile anyhow.

And so came the reason for his lack of patience. Waiting for the electrician to come and check the wiring at the club, he had to get that done before the decorators could get in. Yet the electrician had been running late, and so he'd been running late and he knew very well that Elsie was heading straight into town after work and going to visit their granddaughter before they all had dinner together. And he should've been there too.

So, his patience was in short supply when they electrician finally turned up and his ire ready for being let loose.

Yet just as he was about to snap at the spotty youth climbing the steps to the old clubhouse his phone bleeped and he looked at the screen to see a picture of Elsie holding Charlotte from the previous weekend. The caption, "Hurry home granddad," caused his ire to dissipate and instead he was smiling by the time the lad reached him.

"Where do you want me?" He'd asked.

Charles shook his head, like it or not Charlotte was never getting involved with any young man – ever! They were all useless and uncouth, "Follow me." He tutted, heading inside.

* * *

June meant a reduction in workload for Elsie, and lighter evenings, and so her mood (already brighter than ever thanks to the arrival of one baby girl) was now flying. She parked at the far side of town in order to enjoy the walk and the fine afternoon. She purchased strawberries on the way and the last of the fresh flowers, armfuls of them, reduced because of the time of day. They'd fill the shop with fragrance and colour.

Walking to _Carson's Books_ now was rather odd. In such a relatively short space of time she'd shopped there, dated the owner, lived there, got engaged to the owner and was now visiting her daughter and granddaughter whom lived there. And it was not even quite two years. How strange life was, how odd, how surprising.

She waved to John through the window as she approached the entrance, one hand lifting from clutching the flowers. His face, though, was decidedly frosty and she wondered just which customer had upset him. She thought of evenings spent listening to Charles complaining over one thing or another as they'd had dinner, and was chuckling over their apparent likeness as she pushed open the door.

"Don't tell me, someone spilled coffee on a book again." She said, stopping before the counter. "Don't look at me like that, I know it's a lot of flowers but spread them around in here and it will look stunning." John stared at her, or rather over her head. "What is it?" She asked, instant concern over Charlotte.

"Hello Elly."

Joe.

She snatched her eyes shut, took a second to compose before turning.

He was at the other side of the shop, Charlotte in his arms, seemingly wandering around as he rocked her.

"Hello." She said, feeling clumsy and awkward as she stood there with flowers and her handbag slipping down her arm.

"Just popped in this afternoon, thought I'd get some practise in before my own arrives."

She nodded, "I see."

"Shall I take these from you?" John interjected and came around the counter to relieve her of the bunches. "I'll put them in the kitchen until Anna comes down."

"Where is she?"

Joe answered. "I told her to go take a bath, relax for a bit, you know. She looked tired."

Elsie slid her handbag off her arm, moving to the back of the counter and stowing it on one of the shelves there. "Well, of course she is." She replied, irritated by his presence.

"You look well though, very well."

She bristled at his comment, but maintained her game face.

"Thank you. And how's Sarah?"

"Due any day now and waddling like a duck," he laughed. "Ready for it to be over. You know how it was at the end."

Indeed she did. All too well.

The pink bundle in his arms moved, twitched, and he glanced down as she murmured. "Waking up," he said. And then the baby let out an almighty, guttural cry, and Elsie quickly moved around the counter to them.

* * *

Charles took a taxi into town, had it drop him as close to the shop as possible, and practically jogged the distance to it, down familiar streets and oft-visited sites, stores, coffee shops. He felt rather nostalgic as he passed the pub that had been his local for so many years. It was hardly like he couldn't still visit it of an evening, it would just mean a drive and effort. And besides, he went there to escape his own isolation and loneliness. There was nothing to escape now.

As he neared his shop he felt his heart quicken – uncertain whether it was the affection he held for it or the thought that soon he'd get to see his granddaughter. His own little piece of heaven.

When he stopped, hand out, reaching for the handle, his heart stopped too, or so it seemed.

Elsie, leaning over Charlotte, her hand reaching down to tickle her chin as she smiled at her. And… and Joe, holding the baby. Gazing down too. Smiling too. Together, cooing over their grandchild.

He felt something churn his gut, and that faintly acidic taste fill his mouth. Bile. Disgust. For a second he saw them differently, recalled her memories, the things that woke her at night – being held down, being powerless, being hurt.

When she looked up she saw him, and for the briefest of seconds he saw something flash in her eyes. Then she raised her hand, smiled, beckoned him even as she walked towards the door to let him in.

He felt a lump in his throat; kept his eyes from the man who he'd long entertained thoughts of slamming repeatedly into a concrete block.

"Hi honey," she said gently, and he felt her hand grip his arm as she leant in to kiss his cheek. "Weren't delayed too long then?"

"Seems not."

John, thankfully, returned just at that precise moment, seeing Charles he paused by the door, "Oh shit…"

To Elsie's surprise Joe laughed, "Don't worry yourself." He chuckled. "I'd best be going though, best not out stay my welcome. Tell Anna I'll call. Arrange something."

He moved towards Elsie again and Charles instinctively raised his hand, resting it on her shoulder.

"Here you go." He said, handing the baby to her. "Grandma hey." He looked at her face as he said it. "Suits you. You look happy."

Elsie felt Charles' fingers curl into her shoulder.

She took the baby from Joe, turned immediately and placed Charlotte in Charles' arms.

Thank god for John, shepherding Joe out, making small talk, easing the situation somewhat.

Charles crossed to the other side of the shop, putting some distance between them, gently rocking Charlotte how he knew she liked.

"What the hell?!" He whispered.

"I didn't know he'd be here. He wasn't meant to be here."

"That's hardly…" He stopped, when his brother returned, watched as Elsie turned slightly away from him, chewing on her thumbnail.

"Right, yeah so that was weird." John said. "And just to stress that Anna and I didn't know he would turn up like that, otherwise of course we would never have arranged dinner. She just felt uncomfortable, you know, telling him to bugger off." He sighed, digging his hands into his pockets. "We didn't realise he'd be here so long, all afternoon."

"Yeah. Well." Charles looked down at Charlotte, watched as she scrunched her hand around his little finger, squeezing it in her half-sleep. "Your daughter needs changing." He said softly.

"Okay, I'll take her then." Usually Charles would have done it, he seemed to like doing it, doing every task as it turned out. Feeding, changing, bathing, reading to her – but then, that one was a given. But this time he handed her across, stood helplessly behind the counter surveying the shop.

Elsie turned the key in the lock and the sign to 'closed.'

"It's it quite five yet," Charles stated.

"A few minutes to, it hardly matters." She moved back to the counter, her hands laced together in front of her and he thought how nervous she seemed. "Don't be grumpy with me. I didn't know he'd be here." She said.

"You didn't have to play happy bloody families."

"What?"

"Leaning over Charlotte with him like that, acting like nothing's wrong, nothing happened. Years of fucking ab –,"

She held her hand up, "Don't! Don't you dare say that. She was crying, I was comforting her. That's all. Whatever you think you saw. Don't roll your eyes Charles, I'm not a liar."

"I never said you were. I just don't understand how you could bear to be in the same room as that man."

"I can't! He makes my skin crawl. I'm shaking here Charles, do you realise that? But I wasn't about to show him that was I? And I'm angry with myself for caring, for letting him still affect me. The last thing I need is you on the moral high ground judging me."

"Then why didn't you walk out? Or go upstairs or…"

"What's going on?" Anna said, coming into the shop. "You're not arguing over Dad?"

Elsie folded her arms around her stomach, how quickly a potentially lovely evening had soured.

"Don't do that, don't let him…"

"_Why_ didn't you warn me?" Elsie suddenly shouted, her heart pounding in her chest. "Why didn't you call or send him the fuck away? For god's sake Anna. Why did you even have him here? In Charles' shop?"

"Mum!"

"Elsie calm down. It's hardly Anna's fault." Charles said, watching her ire rise with every second.

"No I will not. That man has no right to be anywhere near her."

"Mum, we discussed this. He's changed, he's gonna be a dad again."

"He _is_ a dad and it didn't change him! Believe me." She turned away from them, pacing to the back of the room, hugging her arms around herself, suddenly feeling decidedly alone.

"Mum, I'm sorry." Anna said gently. "I won't let it happen again. I promise. I'll make sure… I'm just tired, you know, I didn't think you'd cross over." She looked towards Charles when Elsie didn't respond and he shook his hand at her, waving her upstairs.

"Els…" He said, moving around the counter and towards her.

"I want to go home." She turned to face him. "I'm going home."

"Let's not. We're here to spend time with them, with Charlotte."

She shook her head at him, pursing her lips. "That you would think I'd even contemplate civility with him…"

"But you were." He said, standing only a metre from her between the bookcases. "You did. Act civil. You did it today in here; you did it after he'd left you. Didn't you?"

She felt hot tears sting her eyes and she blinked furiously, "So what? I'm to blame?" She felt shame fill her, that sickening memory of sleeping with him after he'd left her, of letting him… She swallowed, her throat tight. "I'm to blame because I didn't fight back?"

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

"I never would. You're not to blame. But you shouldn't have to feel like you have to be polite to the man."

"Polite!" She shouted, throwing her arms up. "Then why don't you tell me how I should be, Charles? Do you want me to collapse in a heap every time I see him or start ranting and raving at him over what he did?"

"I'd rather we just didn't see him." He said gently. "No bumping into him in the supermarket or –,"

"You say it like I did it on purpose! Well, fuck you Charles!" She marched past him, her elbow bumping his arm as she passed.

"Don't storm off, you're not listening to me."

"No, you're not listening to me!" She spun to face him, "Don't presume you know how I feel about this, and don't you dare try to tell me how to act!"

"Stop shouting, Elsie…"

"I'll shout if I want to bloody shout!"

"Elsie, Charlotte's upstairs."

She stopped, covered her face with her hands. The thought of her grandchild seemed to send her over the edge into floods of tears.

"He'll never leave me, will he? I'll never be rid of it?"

"Oh, my darling…" He pressed his hands on her upper arms.

"I don't want Charlotte to ever know, I don't want her to ever have to know things like that exist let alone that they happened to me." She looked up at him, eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. "It colours everything."

"Not everything." He brushed her hair back from her face, offering her a steady smile.

"We haven't rowed in months and now over _him_? Of all things." She shrugged her shoulders, feeling defeated. "I thought I was getting through it, you know."

"You are. No nightmares in months and months."

"Then why when he's around or even mentioned, do I still feel so damned well ashamed of myself?"

* * *

They stayed for dinner; John cooked, Charles watched him and Anna let Elsie bathe Charlotte.

She was holding the baby in both hands, watching as she wriggled and writhed against her, her feet splashing in the water. Rubbing her thumbs over the silky, delicate skin and smiling down at Charlotte's face.

"You are beautiful baby girl," she whispered. "And Granny loves you so very much, don't ever forget that."

She heard a door open and Anna come in, standing beside her over the baby bath.

"I remember washing you like this," Elsie finally said. "You loved the bath, remember as a toddler you had all those bloody ducks."

"I do. They stacked together, all in primary colours."

"And you'd happily sit in the tub all night playing with them until your skin was wrinkled. I had to force you to get out."

Anna laughed. "You never were much of a rule setter though mum."

"And look what I've ended up with." She teased, glancing at her daughter.

"I am sorry, I just didn't think."

She watched Elsie's shoulders sag, "Honestly, I'm surprised myself. I didn't think I'd react like that. I was more concerned for Charles…" she looked back to Charlotte. "He adores her so, and he worries, you know. We're not married yet, he has no legal rights, I think it worries him."

"I'd never stop him seeing her, even if you and he…"

"Hold your tongue!" Elsie smiled, "He's not getting rid of me." She lifted Charlotte out of the water. "No, he's not, my little blossom. Oh, you're so lovely though," she kissed the baby's cheek and neck, carrying her over to the changing table and laying her on a towel. "Do you want granddad to get you ready for bed, hmm?"

Anna smiled at the sight, brushing her hand over her mum's shoulder as she passed her, "I'll send him in."

Elsie was still drying Charlotte and applying cream when Charles came in carrying her sleep suit.

"I picked the ladybird one," he said, as if Charlotte would understand. "Because you look cute as a button in that."

Elsie held the baby up, "Oh granddad, she looks cute as a button in whatever she wears. Don't you sweetie?"

"Of course she does," he kissed the baby's head and Elsie let him hold her, resting her easily on one arm. "And after we'll go find that Peter Rabbit story you like so much and have a read before we sleep."

"She needs her bottle." Elsie was popping open the ladybird outfit, gathering up the legs to slip onto Charlotte's feet.

"Well, we can do both can't we darling, because we're clever. We can have milk in one arm and the book in the other and Granny can watch."

She moved over to them, one arm sliding around Charles' back as they looked down at the baby resting in his arms. "No cuddle for grandma, though?"

"Oh, always a cuddle for grandma." He kissed her forehead. "Because she's precious to me too."

"Such a sweet talker. Come on then, let's get you dressed shall we?"

He stood by the door watching as she dressed Charlotte, thinking it such a quaint scene, so very normal. And wasn't this what he'd always wanted, to just be with her? All those years when she'd breeze into his shop and he'd snatch a two-minute conversation and be grateful for it and spend the evening replaying her words, the tilt of her head, the freckles on her neck, the brightness in her voice and eyes.

So, what was he arguing with her for? What was he sulking for, really? For something he thought he'd seen but was absolute rubbish? For a man who held no sway what-so-ever over her heart, he knew that, logically. Of course he did. It was just muddled. The emotions Charlotte's birth had stirred up, his fear of suddenly losing his link with the baby, his irrational fears of losing Elsie. A year was a long time, after all, and a marriage would just make things seem real. Solid.

Stepping tentatively forward he rested his hand on her shoulder and she turned her neck, looking up at him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "In your words, I behaved like a dick."

She smiled, reaching up to pat his hand. "You did. But don't use such language in front of my princess."

"I apologise for that too."

He was curling his arms around her waist as she fastened the poppers on the sleep suit, and he couldn't help but feel that this was how it was always meant to be – holding her, part of this family.

"There we go, all done." She pressed her finger to Charlotte's nose and watched as the baby yawned. "Time for that bottle I think, and story time and bed time."

Charles kissed her cheek. "All sound as welcome to me as they do to her."

* * *

**Tuesday**

Early evening and Elsie was marking at the kitchen table listening to the radio when Charles suddenly came in and stood stock still in front of her, a box laying in the palm of his hand.

"What's this?"

"An apology." He stated.

"Oh Charles," she put her pen down. "Don't do that."

"What?" He gripped the box in his hand nervously, his knuckles whitening around it.

"Give me gifts to make things alright."

His mouth suddenly felt dry, his tongue thick, "I thought we _were_ alright."

"We are." She pressed her hand against his wrist. "Of course we are. You don't need to give me gifts."

"No. But I want to. I was pushing Charlotte around town this afternoon and, well, she spotted it really."

Despite her annoyance at him wasting money she chuckled, "Oh she did, did she? So, is it milk flavoured and suckable?"

"Steady on there Mrs Hughes?"

She laughed again, turning in her chair to face him, one ankle crossed over the other.

"So…?" He held the box towards her again, wiggling it in his palm. "I bought you this for the opening of the club, to wear with your fancy dress."

She rolled her eyes, "Which I haven't got yet."

"But you _will_ get a fancy dress, and look stunning and put all the other guests to shame, because you always do."

"Flatterer." She reached forward and took the box from him. Breathing deeply she peeled the bow off, took off the paper and snapped open the lid. Inside shone a diamond bracelet – she'd never been one for baubles but my it was impressive.

"I feel like Julia Roberts."

"I don't get it."

"Pretty Woman…" she looked up at his confused face, "Never mind."

"But, you do like it? Don't you?"

"I…" She licked her lips, looking up at his expectant face. "I can't even begin to imagine how much this cost." She said, her voice shaky.

"Don't think about things like that. Do you like it?"

She wondered how many times she'd seen that worried expression on his face, a handful? The time he asked her out, their first date, that first time in her bed. His wide-eyed puppy-dog expression almost heart breaking.

"How could I not? It's beautiful."

"I thought it would go with the earrings and necklace I got you at Christmas. Before all that mess happened. Before I messed it up." He said pointedly.

"Oh Charles, nothing's messed up." She moved closer to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We're still learning – as odd as that seems at our age. You couldn't help the accident, just don't shut me out when you're feeling low. And I couldn't help Joe being there, I can't change my past – the therapist tells me I need to accept that, but things aren't always straightforward are they? I keep expecting this 'closure' thing to just happen, but of course it doesn't."

"It will…" He said softly, and she wondered if he truly believed that or merely hoped for it to be true.

She pressed her hand on his shoulder, "Don't go buying me any more jewellery – I adore this, it's possibly the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me. But I'm not sure we can afford it, and I certainly don't need you to apologise for anything with jewels."

He noted the use of 'we', the simple term touched his heart. "Alright." He kissed her forehead. "You will be at this thing won't you? The bowling club?"

"Goodness, of course I will. Darling, I know how important it is to you. It's like your opening night." She grinned.

"Not quite. And you're the most important thing to me, I want to share it with you."

She closed the bracelet box, placing it back on the table and sliding her hands around his waist and hugging him. "I'll be there, as proud as a wife can be." She really must get a dress though and stop just buying baby clothes.

Now he smiled, "And still too long until that wondrous moment." He kissed her, "The vicar will be at this ceremony you know, Isobel sent him an invite."

"Ah, so we can quiz him on next April then, that's what you're thinking?"

"I was actually thinking I could try and scope him out in regards to the christening."

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that? Cup of tea?"

"Sure," he sat in her vacated seat. "And did I spot some Bakewell tarts in the cupboard?"

"Maybe." She flicked the switch on the kettle. "So, Anna and John are all for it?"

"They said so, it usually takes months to get a spot but I'm hoping that as the Reverend and I have known each other for centuries he'll find us a spot this summer."

"That'd be lovely, wouldn't it?" She placed a plate in front of him with a napkin and the cake on and he began to peel off the silver case.

"I know it's summer Charles but I don't want the kittens out all night," she said as she peered out of the back door.

"I'll get them in before it's too dark." He bit into the cake.

"So, did Anna specify a date for the Christening?"

"No. I'm just gonna see what I can find out, July or August would be great, wouldn't it? We could host something here afterward, in the garden. Food and drink. Do some photographs."

She smiled, leaning back on the counter and waiting for the kettle to boil. "That sounds lovely, you've really been thinking this through."

"Well, I wanted it to be nice." He finished off his dessert. "You think I'm interfering if I do?"

"Of course not." The kettle boiled and she poured water into the pot to warm it before refilling it and adding tealeaves. "I'm sure with a new baby and a shop to run they have no issues what-so-ever with you organising this." She carried the teapot to the table, "Just keep it low-key."

"I'm hardly party planner extraordinaire."

"Yet," she kissed his head, returning to the side to carry across cups and milk.

"Come here."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She put the cups down.

"No. Come here, here." He said, pushing the chair back and patting his knee.

"A slightly pervy Father Christmas." She giggled.

He waggled his eyebrows at her and she slipped down onto his lap, her arms looped around his neck. "I have work to finish you know."

"How many weeks until I have you to myself?"

"Let's see… about six. Just under six."

His arms were tight around her waist, "And then six blissful weeks of just you and I… and lots of nice walks with Charlotte."

"Sounds lovely. And swimming. I want to take her swimming. I got the cutest little suit on Saturday in town, it's like a sailor swimsuit!"

He chuckled, "That girl's going to be spoilt."

"Don't make me stop. I love it. And you can't talk, Granddad, wanting to spend every minute with her."

"I can't help it. She's perfect and she doesn't judge me."

Elsie laughed, "So young. So innocent. You know she loves your voice, every time she hears you her eyes light up."

"I'm not sure she even recognises my voice at this extremely young age, Els."

"Nonsense, of course she does. You're the voice that reads so very well to her, with the accents and what-not. I'm rubbish at accents."

"You're not half bad at doing a Scottish one."

She squeezed his shoulder, "Aye, an I can take piss outta Yorkshire un too."

He laughed, "That was really poor."

"It was, wasn't it?" She kissed his mouth quickly before jumping up from his lap. "Now bugger off and go drink your tea in the lounge, let me finish up here."

"Yes. Oh Scottish dragon." He bowed dramatically.

"Ah, you cheeky bastard! And after I let you have a Bakewell Tart too!"

* * *

**Friday**

Stepping in front of the full-length mirror Elsie seemed to spend an age staring at herself. She hardly recognised what she saw.

Just where had this woman come from? Where did this aura of confidence and glamour emerge from? There'd been times, during her first marriage, where she'd been afraid to leave the house – that people might know, might stare. Times she'd been afraid of her own reflection, because it meant looking at herself and admitting what was going on.

Now, she looked like some glamorous woman from magazines she used to admire when she was a young wife with little money and nothing to do with her days.

As she stepped back, turning left then right to check the line of the skirt, the light caught the sparkle and it dazzled along with the jewels at her ears, neck and wrist. She looked like somebody she'd admire from afar but never be brave enough to pull the look off herself. Only she was.

The skirt was a little shorter than she usually went for, the dress fitted, it accentuated the curve of her hips and breasts, showed how the increased swimming hadn't made her lose weight but tightened it all up somewhat.

She bit her lip, nerves kicking in. Could she pull this off? Was it too much?

"Els, sweetheart, the taxi's gonna be here in 5 minutes." Charles called up the stairs.

"Okay," too late to back out now. "Just a sec."

She stepped back to the mirror, finishing pinning her hair up, loose tendrils at the side, her fringe swept to one side. For the briefest of seconds she saw her mother – her mother always wore her hair piled high on her head (only fitting for farm work), and by the end of the day there were always loose, flyaway sections blowing in the breeze.

Shaking aside the image, she picked up her clutch from the bed and shoved her lipstick inside, one final spritz of perfume and she made her way through the house, pausing at the top of the stairs to get her footing right in the heels before making her way down.

Hearing their bedroom door close Charles glanced out of the door again looking for the taxi, he was nervous, he hated giving speeches, hated attention. But he needed to do it. Needed to keep pushing the fundraising. And unlike the weekend bake sale the people there tonight were rich, and, hopefully, feeling generous.

Behind him he heard the creak of the floorboards on the upper landing, he still needed to fix that, and turned back towards the stairs, making his way down the short hallway.

"So, we should be there a good twenty minutes before the others…wow!" He stopped, gripping the bottom of the banister rail. "Oh my."

She paused on the top stair, "Too over-the-top? Should I change?"

"Don't you dare! You look stunning, goddess-like stunning."

"Charles…" She admonished, blushing.

"I'm not kidding, I've never seen…" He shook his head. "I'll be the proudest man there."

She took the rest of the stairs down to him, "I should hope so, you're the chairman of this bowling thing. Big deal, _apparently_, in these circles."

He chuckled at her sarcasm; the bowling club was hardly anything special, yet. "Prestigious, but that's not why I'll be proud." He rested his hands on her hips, feeling the bejewelled lines of her dress under his fingers; the rich swell of her perfume assaulting his senses. "Can I ravish you now?"

"Save it for later, I've just done my makeup." She deadpanned.

"Not even a kiss…"

She twisted her neck, offering him her cheek which he dutifully kissed.

"You're looking very handsome Mr Carson," she said, straightening his collar and necktie. "I shall be proud too. I apologise now if I embarrass you with my dancing."

"I shan't be embarrassed."

Outside there was a flash of headlights and Elsie tapped his shoulders as she took the final step down and passed him, "Taxi." She felt his hand tap her backside as she walked away.

"Did you just pinch my ass Mr Carson?" She asked in a snooty voice.

"I pinched your bottom, if that's the same thing. Couldn't help myself."

"Well do try as the evening draws on, it's a posh event you know." She stumbled slightly on the polished wooden floor as she headed down the hallway. "God knows how I won't trip tonight in these heels. Not used to them."

"Where did you get them from?"

"Anna. I didn't want to look tiny next to you in the photos."

He chuckled, grabbing the door keys. "You fit right under my arm."

"Just hold onto my arm, stop me from tripping in public."

* * *

Speeches over and dancing begun, Elsie took a moment to escape to the loo, getting a glass of Champagne on her way back and standing by the open doors that led out to the green.

She glanced around the interior, impressed by what Charles had managed to achieve over the past few months. This run-down, uncared for building was shining now and somehow he'd managed to fund it all through donations – she wondered if perhaps he was missing a calling.

"Elsie," an elderly gentleman said beside her ear and she tilted her head around.

"Reverend Travis, so nice to see you." She squeezed his arm and he leant in to kiss her cheek.

"It's nice to be here, I don't usually get invites to swanky events."

"Ha. Well, I think Charles wanted all the help he could get, including the divine."

The reverend chuckled.

"Oh goodness, I'm sorry, that was a little un-pc of me wasn't it."

"I don't mind. And I'm sure He won't either. Charles spoke to me about the christening."

"Oh yes?"

"I think maybe I could look for early August, find a couple of hours, it may have to be in the afternoon though."

"You don't usually do that, do you? Aren't the services at a set time? Several families at once?"

"They are. But Charles is an old friend, I've known him since he was a boy, hard to believe I know. I've a mind to see him happy."

"Oh well, wait until you see him with her, a different man. Who knew he had such skill in nappy changing?"

They laughed together and Travis stood closer to her in order to speak.

"I was sorry, you know, when the wedding was called off. Regrettable."

Elsie sipped her champagne, letting the liquid rest on her tongue and the bubbles sparkle and burst. "I prefer to think of it as postponed."

"Yes. Next April? He doesn't seem overly enthusiastic about that."

Elsie glanced sharply at him.

"Oh, I mean, the wait. Of course." He chuckled. "I think he'd marry you tomorrow in a bus stop if it could be arranged."

She smiled, "People will marry just about anywhere, won't they, these days?"

"It seems so."

Sighing she finished off her champagne, "I know it's not ideal. But he was so ill after the accident." She shrugged, "I don't want to overwhelm him… he's taken this on, which is wonderful, given him a new lease of life I suppose, a focus. Restored his confidence."

"It has, yes. But that child," he shook his head smiling, "when he came to see me three days after the birth he was full of joy. Palpable joy. It was quite the sight to behold. The joy children bring."

Her eyes found where Charles danced with Isobel and she was smiling as she watched them twirl and laugh together.

"I didn't realise he'd been to see you."

"Yes. Just for a quiet moment in the church, we prayed together, thanked God for baby Charlotte's health. For Anna and the safe delivery."

For some reason she found that knowledge made her throat tighten and her eyes fill with moisture. Blinking rapidly she shook it away. Sometimes she forgot that religion had been part of his life since he was just a boy; she didn't question him over it, and she didn't join him each and every Sunday for the service but on the times she did she rather enjoyed the singing. Her beliefs weren't his and vice versa but the history of Christianity intrigued her. Over the years she'd learnt there were two things where sometimes it was better to keep your opinions to yourself – religion and politics – the latter had been harder to stick by at times!

"Would you like another drink Reverend?"

"You know Elsie, I rather fancy a dance if you don't mind accompanying me?"

She smiled, reaching down to take the older man's hand, "Of course not. I didn't realise vicars could dance."

"You'd be surprised."

* * *

**Saturday**

Sinking into her, he'd reflected numerous times over the past eighteen months, was akin to sinking into heaven. Silken warmth enveloping him. Intoxicating. Enrapturing.

And her hands on his body, her mouth seeking his, knowing that this was out of love as much as desire. That she wanted him. Aphrodisiac piled on aphrodisiac.

He took his time, it was early morning after all, not even seven-thirty on a Saturday and the room still had that peaceful, untouched glow about it. They hadn't gotten home until almost one, drunk and exhausted, but happy – it had gone well and he'd raised a fair amount of funds. They'd slept almost instantly though, her feet aching from dancing in those heels, his throat dry from talking.

Now he was awake. Now she was awake.

Back and forth, his tongue stroking hers, her murmured hums of pleasure encircling him. Her fingers trailing down his back, nails against his skin, a foot pushing up the back of his leg, her heel pressing into him as she gasped.

He commits it all to memory. There are some moments you want to revisit time and time again; he knows this will be one of them.

The sound of his name and a gasped 'Yes,' and the rhythm increases. Tighter now, the languid earlier movements replaced by something surer, seeking that glorious prize. He feels her thighs tighten against him, her body seems everywhere, around him, holding him, rocking him and then…

A sudden cry of pain, agony, and it all stops.

"God what? What Charles?! Is it your heart?" She yells frantically, panicked by his sudden withdrawal from her body, his guttural cry of pain. Her hand is on his chest, she realises, as if seeking out the problem – _please God, not that – _and he's still between her legs, hovering above her, his eyes closed.

"Charles. Tell me. What?"

The pillow beside her head moves slightly and she watches as William nonchalantly pads his way across it, curls into a ball and settles down.

"That little bastard." Charles seethes. "I've a mind to kill the little bugger."

"What?" she is exasperated, confused, disappointed and frustrated and still so turned on!

"Jumped on my arse, didn't he, jeez," he pushes himself up from her, tentatively reaching around to touch the offended area. "Sank his chuffing nails right in."

"Oh goodness," she tries, unsuccessfully, to cover her smile but it's no use. As soon as he glances at her face she dissolves into fits of hilarity.

"It's not funny, that little sod, it stings like hell."

"Oh honey, come on lie down, let me look."

"I am not going to let you look at my bottom."

"I've looked at it plenty of times, now lie down here." She pats the bed and he slowly lies on his stomach next to her. "Oh dear, yes," her fingers tenderly touch the red area. "He's fetched blood too."

"I know he bloody has."

"I'll go get some cream for it."

"They're out, that's it, they're leaving. Back to the sodding farm with them!"

"Oh no," she bends to kiss his shoulder, smiling, "Not my babies." Her kisses move down his back. "They're so beautiful and innocent, he didn't know. Imagine him seeing something as big as you bobbing about, of course he wants to play."

Charles twists his head over to look at her. "I was enjoying my _play_ until that little fur ball… bloody hell it stings."

"I know," she ruffles his hair, looking down at him. "But I do love them. They can't go. You'll just need to have a chat with him about appropriate behaviour."

They both glance to the kitten, oblivious now as it sleeps on Charles' pillow.

"That's another thing, sleeping on our bed." He shakes his head. "I'll be lucky to get any Elsie love."

"Poor baby," she kisses his cheek. "You're just going to have to accept your place as second in line now."

"Ha! I already bloody have."

Smiling, she kisses him again, finding his mouth with hers, "Such a shame, I was so close, he could have waited a minute or so."

Groaning he buries his face into the quilt, "Don't tell me things like that."

She taps his bottom as she gets up, "I'll get the cream, if it stops stinging maybe we can undertake round two."

"Well, you can go on top! I'm keeping my eye on the little sod!"

* * *

Later, when the kittens have been fed and let outside to enjoy the morning sunshine, she sits propped up against the pillows in bed sipping a cup of tea. Charles is dozing, his head against her chest, her fingers running up and down his back, across his shoulders, up his neck.

"You know, I thought of my mother last night."

"Hmm…"

"When I was doing my hair. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and just for a second…" her hand stilled upon his neck, fingertips curling into his hair. "Just for a second I saw her. I never think we look alike, you know."

"Do you have pictures of her?" He mumbled against her skin.

"I'm not sure. Maybe the odd couple somewhere. I'll have to look. Be nice, you know, to pass them on to Anna for Charlotte, nice to have those memories for her."

"Maybe I can make a scrapbook for her," he said, waking a little. "I'd rather like that, pictures of our families, background, history."

She smiled, "Because _of course_ she'll be interested in history."

"Of course. She's already got the brightest, most inquisitive mind."

She shook her head, leaning it back against the wall – at not even three months old and he had her pinned as a genius.

"You know I have this memory of my mother. One of those horrible memories that somehow, even all this age later, still manages to make my gut twist."

He opened his eyes, staring out across their bed, his fingers flexing against her arm.

"We were heading to the park, I think my sister was there too, and I was holding my mum's hand on one side, my sister on the other and… It was the main street, you know, we passed it on the way to the park and there were these lads on bikes. Only young. Teenagers, maybe, but certainly no older than fourteen. A few of them and they looked at us and they started laughing. All of them. Whispering and laughing."

"Why?" Charles asked, his voice quiet.

"Because my mother had a huge black eye. That was seemingly amusing to them."

He moved uncomfortably, those kinds of images never sat well with him – even if he was watching television and he witnessed some form of violence against women he'd feel physically sick.

She moved her hand, finding his with hers and lacing their fingers together.

"I felt ashamed. You know. Ashamed of my mother for making those boys laugh at us."

He said nothing. Just listened.

"Silly, the silly childish thoughts you have. As if my mother was to blame. It's funny isn't it, how often we blame ourselves?"

Now he moved, twisting his head slightly to kiss her chest.

"Sorry," she stroked her hand down his back again. "Miserable thoughts."

"I don't mind," he pushed his body up, moving to rest beside her against the pillows. "I like that you can talk to me about these things."

"That's because I can tell you anything, even me being a stupid, little girl, and you're still here."

"Well, you accept all my faults too." He said lightly and she smiled at the warmth in his eyes.

"As Cromwell would say, 'warts and all.'"

"Nice history line Mrs. Hughes."

"I aim to please." She leant over and put her teacup down. "So, the cats are out now…" She said, wiggling down in the bed. "Want to see if we have better luck with round two…?"

"And there I was thinking she might make me a bacon buttie if I played my cards right."

She tapped her hands lightly on the bed sheet, "Which would you prefer?"

"God help the day I opt for the bacon sandwich." He said as he disappeared beneath the bed sheets with her.

They were sniggering together like school children for quite some time.

* * *

**Sunday**

Humming to herself Elsie set about cleaning the kitchen. They'd only been looking after Charlotte for six hours and already the place looked a state. There were empty bottles and nappy bags and boxes of wipes and tubs of cream stacked up on the kitchen table.

She'd forgotten how much hard work babies could be. And Charles was so pedantic about making sure everything was done correctly. No short cuts. Not with his little girl.

"Now, here we go Granny." He said, coming into the kitchen with the baby in his arms. "All ready for our walk, wrapped up nice and warm."

"And I see madam has seen fit to stop crying just as you're about to take her out." She moved the hood of the sleep suit slightly, glancing down at her sleeping face. "Don't go too far pushing that pram." She said.

"Yes sir."

She looked up at him and smiled, his face inches from hers. "Have fun," she said, kissing him.

"Sure you won't come?"

"No. You two go, enjoy it. I'm going to tidy up and then do a bit of work, how long you think you'll be?"

"Hour or so. Not too long."

"Okay. Then we can have the afternoon with her before we take her home."

* * *

Charles ignored Elsie's advice and did indeed push the pram up high, strangely enjoying the sting of exhaustion as he reached the top of the hill and stood gasping for air as he took in the view. He was making his lungs work, making his muscles work, and it felt good.

June, and the joy of summer. An endless sea of blue sky and rolling Yorkshire countryside. The grass freshly cut, the hum of bees and trees, thick with leaves, whispering in the breeze.

For a second he closed his eyes and enjoyed the tranquillity of it. Until he heard the bark of a dog and instinctively bent down beside the pram, his hand resting lightly on Charlotte's blanket-covered belly as he glanced about.

Two boys chasing, and being chased, by a chocolate-coloured Labrador. All three were bounding across the field without a care in the world. Behind them their dad, carrying a kite and raising his hand in a wave to Charles when he spotted him.

He sank down onto the grass, sitting and watching as they set it up the kite – it was a dragon, embroidered in blue and green, silver threads embedded through the body and a long silver tail flapping in the wind. He thought of Elsie and laughed to himself.

"When you're older we'll fly kites up here," he whispered towards the pram. "And bring Granny too." He turned to look at the sleeping bundle. "I'll get you the best and brightest kite."

* * *

Once the kitchen resembled hers again Elsie made a pot of tea and settled down with her laptop at the kitchen table. Charles had purchased lamb from the butchers for dinner and she put the oven on to warm, intending to put the meat in and start the roasting whilst he was out.

His adoration for their granddaughter was quite overwhelming to her, of course she felt the same, but she'd never witnessed a man care so much for a child. It was new, not unexpected, and certainly wonderful, but new all the same.

A scream and growl from the other room made her jump to her feet and she dashed through, catching Mary scratching the stair carpet as William prepared to pounce on her from the top step.

Scooping the two of them up she carried them back down the hallway, one dangling from each hand. "Now, Mummy has spoken to you repeatedly about scratching the carpets. And you're already in trouble this weekend," she said pointedly to William. "So probably best if you have an hour outdoors to calm down before Daddy gets home, don't you think?"

She passed the front door and continued to the kitchen, opening the latch with one hand and bending to place them gently on the floor. The pair skipped out, chasing after one another across the patio.

When she got to her feet again and pulled the door closed she knew instantly someone was there with her and she turned sharply. Her heart instantly tightening.

"Joe! What the hell?!" She pressed herself back against the door.

He held his arms up, palms open and facing her. "I did knock."

"This is my home, you can't just wander in."

"As I said, I did knock. But you were rather pre-occupied. Never had you pitted as an animal person."

"You never asked." She stepped forward slightly as he moved back, increasing the distance between them. "What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?"

He smiled, "I don't live on the moon Elly." He moved to sit at the table, glancing at what she was working on. "Are you going to offer me a cup of tea then?"

"Again, Joe, what are you _doing here_?"

"I want to talk about Anna. And the baby. And this guy she's had her with."

"A bit late to play the caring father, isn't it?"

"I've told you. Turned a leaf. David's made me reflect."

"Hmm," she wasn't convinced but she flicked the switch on the kettle anyhow. Charles had only just left, she reckoned it would be an hour before he got back, she certainly didn't want him finding Joe in their kitchen and yet she didn't relish the thought of being alone with the man.

"You have fifteen minutes." She said, then added, "I'd forgotten, about the baby." She turned to face him, "Congratulations. How's it feel to be a dad again?"

He shrugged, "Odd, I guess. Thought I was past it."

"Clearly not," she rolled her eyes, taking out a mug from the cupboard.

* * *

Coming back down the hill Charles paused by a bench and sank down onto it, his knees throbbing with the effort.

"Just need a minute blossom," he said, and when he peeked inside the pram he found a pair of large blue eyes staring back at him. "Well hello, awake are we?"

He pushed the blanket down and slid his hand beneath her back, "Want to come sit with granddad for a moment, have a look around?"

She gurgled and murmured as he lifted her, but once settled back against his arm she quieted and stared up at his face.

"This is Yorkshire, where you live." He lifted her, as if showing her the view. "Harrogate, more to the point, and it's a wonderful, beautiful place. And, you see down there." He moved on the bench, turning so she was facing the direction they would soon be walking. "Down there we can see Granny and Granddad's house, isn't it lovely? And I promise you by the time you're running about I'll have that garden done up. Got you a spot all picked out where you can have your slide and a sandpit. Right by the oak tree, we'll put a swing on it and I think I can get a tree house in there too, I'll get someone to build you a proper one of course, no rubbish. Want you safe up there."

He sat back, nestling her against his chest. "It's a very happy home darling, and one day it'll be yours. All of it. And you can live happily there too." He kissed her forehead. "I'm determined."

* * *

"You can't just come here. Can't just turn up. If you need to speak with me about Anna then call, meet me somewhere else." She regretted the last line as soon as it left her mouth.

He smiled again, "You mean without your husband-to-be knowing? Or is that all off now?"

"No. It isn't. And you have no right to ask. So, stick to the subject, Anna and Charlotte."

"Yeah, alright." He took his phone from his pocket, resting it on the table beside her laptop, twisting it over between his fingers. "This guy, John, you think she'll marry him?"

"I wouldn't be surprised, she's had a child with him after all." She'd only filled his mug three-quarters full, the quicker he drank, the quicker he'd leave.

"He's not what I want for her. She's better than that. He's too old and doing what – running a book store that his brother owns?"

"Since when did you become a snob?"

He looked up at her, noted the fact she still stood at the opposite side of the kitchen, leaning back against the side, no cup of tea, arms folded across her stomach.

"There's nothing wrong with his job."

"And that's what you want for her? Stuck with an old husband and a kid and that flat above a shop." He rolled his eyes. "Fuck me, Elly, always thought your standards higher."

She bit her lip, ignoring the bait.

"Didn't you want her to travel, see the world? End up working in some glam museum somewhere?"

"Things don't always turn out as we plan," she said gently, her throat tight.

"I guess not." He stared at her for a long time. "I wanna get rid of him."

"Excuse me?!"

"Scare him off, tell him to sod off back to Ireland."

"You can't do that!"

"Can't I? Watch me."

"Joe don't be ridiculous, she loves the man – it'd break her heart."

"Better now than later."

"You don't have the right to interfere."

He held her gaze; his eyes narrow as he watched her. "Who says I don't?"

"Me. I say. Anna's an adult, she makes her own choices, and I wouldn't let their family get broken up for anyone."

He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Your family Elly, I mean come on, bit weird – the guy you're sleeping with is –,"

"We are not 'sleeping' together. You know very well…"

"Alright, whatever it is. But come on, what the hell is he? Uncle? Surrogate whatsit? Distant mad relative?" The corners of his mouth turned upwards. "The guy who shares Granny's bed."

She stood straight, unfolding her arms. "You can leave now."

"Nice place here Elly, you've done well, thought you hated farm life, but here you are."

"I hated farm life with _you_. There's a difference." She wasn't sure where the sudden strength in her words had come from but rather than feel intimidated by him she felt her strength growing with every passing second.

He got up from his chair, digging his hands into his pockets. "You know, it's only ever been you. You do know that, don't you?"

Her brain couldn't follow his train of thought at first; she searched her mind for his meaning, his intentions.

He took a slight step towards her. "All those women over the years. All those conquests. All willing, all consensual." Another step. "Even Sarah. Never quite had the same…allure…doing it to anyone else. But you," he raised a finger, waggled it playfully at her, "you were the one."

She felt like there was glass in her throat. "Why?" She managed to croak out, her knuckles white where she gripped the side of the work surface.

He smiled, "To break Elspeth Hughes…" He shrugged. "Didn't start that way. And then you just made it so damned easy, you know. So easy."

The realisation, after so many years of questioning and wondering, struck slowly, painlessly – she was numb. She didn't even try to speak; there was nothing to say.

"It grew dull. Predictable." He laughed, a hollow sound. "Didn't think you'd bounce back quite so quickly, though."

She closed her eyes. Bit her tongue until her mouth filled with blood.

"Buying houses…" he tutted. "Getting married… I've just come to get what's mine."

She opened her eyes. Met his cold stare.

She knew before he even moved what was going to happen – like she wasn't there, oddly detached as she measured up her options.

In a split second she dashed across the kitchen, heading for the back door. But he was behind her too, grabbing her arms, yanking her back. She kicked against him, pushing forward with all of her strength and they both fell forward, smashing against the door panel.

She slipped, hitting her elbow on the corner of the counter, sinking slightly, and then his hand was in her hair dragging her back and she screamed as loudly as she could – out of pain, out of panic.

His fingers loosened a little as he turned, manoeuvring his body so he was in front of her and she scrambled back, her shoe coming off, the long skirt she wore hampering her movements.

His large, rough hands caught hold of her ankles and she screamed again.

"Middle of nowhere Elly." He said, leaning over her. "That's why you chose this place wasn't it, you and the old man, tranquillity?"

She got a leg free, kicked him hard in the chin, hearing his teeth smash together as she scrambled back again, clawing her way to her feet, stumbling in the one shoe.

"I hate you!" She spat, her words coming out in a strangled cry. Her arm and hip throbbing where she'd hit into the cabinets.

"Crazy _fucking_ bitch!" His voice was raw, cutting, and there was blood dribbling from his mouth.

Somehow she had to get past him or find something to defend herself with, but she was cornered back against the sink. Her hand sought across the draining board for anything of use but then he was there again – large and immovable.

"Don't touch me!" She yelled. "Don't you dare…"

"You're acting irrationally." He said calmly. "It's nothing we haven't done before."

He moved to catch her waist in his hands and her arms flailed about, striking him, pushing and shoving as violently as she could.

"Stop…" he grabbed her upper arms, and she felt the sharp slap of his palm against her face, like ice splintering her skin. The force made her head roll backwards, fatigue leaving her depleted. "Now, stop it. Settle down." He said, his voice oddly flat.

"No," she moaned as he yanked her back again, throwing her down to the floor. "No, no, no. Please…" She was crawling back away from him, screeching as he forced himself on top of her. His head near hers, "Please Joe no," she made sure she looked him in the eye, forced herself to try and find some ounce of humanity. "I don't want to. I don't want this."

But his eyes were black. Dead.

"No… God no… please…" She sobbed hysterically as he held her down. One hand clamping her wrists above her head as she struggled beneath him. She could taste blood and knew her face was bleeding, her eye was throbbing and his other hand was forcing up her skirt.

"No!" She screamed, dragging her legs about, trying to push him off, fighting back. "You're hurting me! Stop it, please god stop it, stop it!"

But his hand was already inside her underwear, hot and insistent, pushing down her knickers as she squirmed.

Words wouldn't come now, she cried and screamed and yelled, sobbed and battered about beneath him as she tried to free herself. Lifting her knee and thumping it into his stomach. He groaned at the action – she'd never fought back before and he was surprised by it. Not for long though, and he returned the action by pushing her leg up and back until she cried in pain and he was gripping her thigh tightly, his nails piercing her skin – she wasn't even sure he was there, that he even knew what he was doing.

"I don't want to," she managed to sob again, "Please, just stop. Just stop…" But she could feel him right there, as open and exposed as she could possibly be, and he was pushing against her as she cried. "No… no, no not this…"

And then he was gone.

His body dragged from hers and she was gasping for air, her lungs expanding at the relief. His weight lifted from her.

She squirmed round on the floor, her eyesight blurred by tears and swelling. She shuffled back to where the kitchen cupboards were to try and escape and in her eye line she could see the tall figure of Charles as he smashed Joe repeatedly into the wall until he crumpled to the floor.

She cried openly – relief and shock and regret and fear… Sharp, gulping breaths that made her lungs ache and her throat raw.

"Elsie," he was on his knees in front of her, lifting her chin. "Elsie, I'm here. I'm here now, you're safe."

"Is he dead?" She asked, her voice hardly her own.

"Unconscious. We need to ring the police."

She looked at him then, eyes wild and panicked. "No! No, I can't. Don't make me do it. Don't make me, _please_ Charles, I don't want anyone to know." Her words were sobbed out, packed with fear and shame. "Nobody can know. I can't tell them…"

"Elsie, darling, listen to me. You're badly injured, you need a Doctor and we need the police because he can't get away with it. Do you hear me? I'm right here, right here. I'll never leave you. But he can't get away with it."

She was hiccupping, her eyes fixed on Joe who still lay crumpled on the floor and somehow in the distance she could hear a baby crying. Charlotte, in the pram in the hallway.

Sobbing again, she thought of Anna. And then Charlotte. And she knew exactly what she had to do because no man should ever get away with what he'd done to her.

* * *

**_Perhaps the hardest scene I've had to write in this entire story - which is saying something, right?!_**


	49. Chapter 49

_"The women whom I love and admire for their strength and grace did not get that way because shit worked out. They got that way because shit went wrong, and they handled it. They handled it in a thousand different ways on a thousand different days, but they handled it. Those women are my superheroes." Elizabeth Gilbert_

* * *

**Chapter 49**

**That Sunday – Charles' view**

As he'd pushed the pram over the drive and towards the house Charles felt every bit of his age. His knees ached from controlling the descent down the hill and he was ready for a sit down, a cup of tea and Sunday lunch – preferably in that order. Once he'd got Charlotte fed and settled of course.

Nearing the front door, the gravel crunched beneath the wheels of the pram and he felt a foreboding he couldn't quite explain. The door wasn't clicked shut, the latch was down and the door rested against the lock but wasn't actually closed at all. He gently pushed at it with the wheels of the pram and it bobbed forward, opening the hallway up to him.

He glanced down to the baby staring up at him with wide, dark eyes, and then he heard it – Elsie's muffled scream and a bang, as if furniture was being knocked about.

His heart jumped into his throat and he pushed open the door with the front of the pram, quickly shifting it to the bottom of the stairs and out of harm's way. He could see Elsie on the floor as he passed the entrance to the kitchen, a man on top of her, her pushing and shoving and kicking and screeching – his movements took a split second but seemed to last forever as he left Charlotte and rushed to Elsie.

The sight would forever be emblazoned in his nightmares. Elsie's bloodied face, torn clothes, her skirt pushed to her waist, underwear kicked aside, and this horrid, evil being between her thighs, trying to… trying to…

The fatigue from walking was gone and he yanked the man from her with such strength it only took one hand. He hurled him backward against the wall, thinking nothing of pounding him into submission – not out of anger, no, but so he was rendered immobile and could give Charles time to attend to Elsie.

He has no recollection, so he'd tell the police later in his statement, of how many times he'd hit him. Only that his fist was now grazed and bruised from where it'd struck the man's face and body repeatedly.

The _man_. Joe. He can't think of him as a man. As a human.

It was the blow to the back of the head, as Joe had hit the wall, that had knocked him out cold and left him limp and crumpled in Charles' hands. He let him slide to the floor and immediately moved to tend to Elsie.

His heart broke when he saw her eyes, overflowing with terror and pain. He knelt before her, "Elsie." She avoided his gaze so he lifted her chin delicately with one finger, forcing her to acknowledge he was there. "Elsie, I'm here. I'm here now, you're safe."

Her eyes appeared to clear as she recognised him and she grasped at his hand. "Is he dead?" She asked.

"Unconscious. We need to ring the police."

Her eyes were full of panic. "No! No, I can't. Don't make me do it. Don't make me, _please_ Charles, I don't want anyone to know..."

She was sobbing and it broke his heart, he didn't want to hurt her.

"Nobody can know. I can't tell them…"

He didn't want to force her into anything, but she needed to do this, they needed to do this. "Elsie, darling, listen to me." His arms were moving around her body, pushing down her skirt, tentatively pulling her to him. "You're badly injured, you need a Doctor and we need the police because he can't get away with it. Do you hear me? I'm right here, right here. I'll never leave you. But he can't get away with it."

* * *

**Two days later**

A light tapping upon the bedroom door roused Elsie from the book she was reading. Twisting the corner of the page around her little finger she sat more upright and pulled her robe around her chest.

"Come in," she said lightly.

"Hi sweetheart," Beryl said as she came in, doing her best to maintain the stoic expression on her face as she first set eyes upon her friend.

Elsie looked exhausted, depleted. Her hair was pulled back which only served to highlight the paleness of her skin in contrast to the angry bruise across the right side of her face, the swollen and cut lip, the puffy eye.

"Hello," she said weakly, but with a genuine smile as her oldest friend sat beside her and rested her hand over Elsie's, leaning forward to place a tender kiss to her cheek. "My, my Elsie, I never thought…"

Elsie turned her hand over, folding it with Beryl's, "Now, let's not get upset. I've enough with Charles handling me like china, let's just be the same, just be you. Don't cry, for heaven's sake."

"Alright." Beryl shook away the tears threatening to fall and instead kicked her shoes off and pulled her legs up onto the bed, sitting beside Elsie and holding her hand. "So…" She breathed deeply, "I'd like to cut the fucker's balls off."

Elsie seemed to laugh without making a sound, her chest shaking as she leant towards Beryl and rested her head on her shoulder. "Okay, but try not to get caught."

They were quiet for a while as beryl held her; downstairs she could hear Charles making tea, the clink of the lid of the teapot, spoons being placed on a tray.

"He didn't rape me, you know, Charles told you that, didn't he?"

"Yes honey, he did. He said he attacked you at home, that he tried to… to rape you. But you fought back." She rubbed Elsie's arm, kissing the top of her head. "You fought back. Gave him quite a beating apparently."

"First time, you know, that I've ever…" She paused as she heard Charles' footsteps on the hall carpet.

Beryl got up and opened the door for him and he carried in a tray.

"Tea," he stated, "and a drop of whisky too." He set the tray down on the table by the bed. "Try and get her to eat some of the cake, Beryl, won't you."

"I ate that porridge you made for breakfast, didn't I?"

"Five spoonfuls hardly counts as eating it."

"Six. And it's because you don't put enough sugar on it."

He smiled endearingly at her, but his eyes were full of regret and she looked away lest she saw something she didn't want to. "Are you going to pour the tea?"

"I'll do it," Beryl said.

"I'll leave you two to talk. I'll just be downstairs, in the garden, if you need me."

"Alright." She said gently, watching him leave.

Beryl looked over to her, raising her eyebrows.

"You see what I mean, kid gloves."

"Love, that's what that is. He wants to protect you."

"He did. If he hadn't come home…"

"Don't go there."

She took her tea from Beryl, "He broke Joe's arm."

"He should have broken his neck. I don't know how he stopped himself."

"Me, I guess, he came to me. And Charlotte was crying."

"Oh fuck."

Elsie drew in a tight, shuddering breath. "I don't remember how I got to the hospital, what was said to me, who I saw. I remember waking up and Charles was in the chair by my bed holding my hand and Anna was asleep beside him."

"How is she?"

"Horrified. Devastated. Furious." She shrugged. "Heartbroken, I think she really wanted to believe he'd changed."

"The gullibility of the young. And how are you? Really?"

"Honestly," she sucked in a tight breath, "oddly, I feel okay."

Beryl nodded.

"It's odd. But I do feel okay, physically, obviously, like total shit, but for the first time, the _first time_ Beryl, I fought back and that's quite liberating, in a way, like a weight's been lifted."

"I can understand that."

She passed her empty teacup across to her friend, "I'll have a drop of the other stuff now."

"You know, I think I will too."

"I kicked him in the mouth, you know, broke a tooth. God…" she threw her head back, "All those bloody years just putting up with it, letting him do that to me. Hiding it away, keeping his secret… He told me that was why, you know, because I let him, because he could. He wanted to see how far he could _push it_, how far I'd let him go. And of course I never stopped it, did I?"

"You know he only said that to control you. To try and hurt you."

"I know. Charles said the same. He saw how happy we were, in the shop with Charlotte. I hadn't seen him for so long and I'm not that person he used to know, he saw that. I'm not that scared little Elly anymore, content to just let things go on and keep my mouth shut. I don't know, maybe he always intended to come back, or maybe it was seeing us that day… who knows…" She downed the whisky. "But he did come back and now I guess we all know he hasn't changed, he can't. Not where I'm concerned, anyhow."

"I'd like to wring his neck."

"I think Charles is front of the queue."

"How is he?" She patted Elsie's leg, "Charles? Besides handling you like china?"

"I don't think he knows what to say, where to put himself."

"It's only been two days. Give it time."

"He's scared to even sleep in here with me, that he'll hurt me or scare me, I don't know. Roll over and crush me," she smiled.

"He's sleeping elsewhere?"

"No, of course not. He's just nervous."

"Messy business," Beryl said lowly, reaching for the whisky bottle and refilling their cups. "You spoken to your therapist?"

Elsie nodded, sipping the liquor. "Only on the phone. I have an appointment tomorrow, Charles is going to join me, his first time there but – well, I don't really want to go alone."

"I can understand that. And perhaps it will be good for him too." Beryl curled her legs beneath her. "What are you going to do, love? You gave a statement to the police, yes?"

"I did. Could hardly avoid it, we had to call an ambulance and of course it's a domestic issue so there's police involved…" She covered her face momentarily with her hand. "Just mortifying. Not being able to clean myself up, to hide away."

"Maybe that's a good thing, not hiding away."

"Yes. Maybe. And I can't fault any of them, very professional, very kind, supportive. But I have to make decisions now as to whether I prosecute or not."

"And, will you?"

"You're not going to jump in and tell me I should?"

"Not this time. Something as serious as this, it's down to you."

She picked at a loose thread on her dressing gown, "Charles wants me to. And Anna, I think, oddly, I didn't expect that of her." She sighed, leaning her head back. "There's a restraining order on him, clearly, not that he's out of hospital yet. And I'm not at all scared he'll come back, not now." She breathed heavily, "God, I had to tell my Head, didn't I?"

"Your Head teacher?"

"Yes. I need a few weeks off, clearly, and, well, I couldn't avoid explaining."

"Awkward."

"Very. Attacked by one's ex-husband – how low class."

"You mustn't think that. And listen, you make that decision yourself, you want to prosecute him then do it, there's no doubt he deserves it. You want to just keep the injunction and let that be that," she shrugged, "So be it. You've fought back Elsie, I'm proud of you for that."

"I'm proud of me for that."

"Well then, there you go."

* * *

Beryl left over an hour later, squeezing Charles' arm by the door. "Keep doing what you're doing lad, she'll be fine," she said reassuringly in his ear.

He took his time before going up to her, giving her time alone.

She was deep in thought when he got up there, sat forward on the bed, her knees bent, her hands resting flat against her legs as she gazed into space.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the bedroom door, one hand in his trouser pocket, his cardigan buttoned up incorrectly.

"Hey." She smiled at him, settling back on the stacked up pillows.

"You feeling okay, now you've had someone to talk to?"

"Charles, I have you to talk to, and you don't have to worry, you're doing a fine job."

He shrugged, "I do worry. I often don't know what to say."

"Just be normal with me."

He nodded sheepishly, "Usually I'd flirt."

"Flirt away."

"You er…" he stepped towards the bed, "come here often?"

She grinned, "To the bookshop? Why, yes I do." She beckoned him over, pulling on his cardigan and unhooking the bottom four buttons before refastening them correctly. "A kind, handsome man works there."

He knelt on the bed, reaching forward to touch her hair, "What would you like to do with the rest of the day?"

"Really? Eat lots of Chinese food, drink copious amounts of wine and watch some rubbish film on the television, some sci-fi blockbuster-blowing-up-shit-thing that has no storyline what-so-ever."

"I can make that happen."

"And I want to get out of this bed."

"How are the ribs feeling?"

"Hammering, as is my back, but I still want to get out of bed."

"Fair enough."

"I need a bath, but I can't get in and out of the tub."

"You know I can help you with that."

She rested her chin on her hands as she regarded him, "Not going to be uncomfortable for you?"

"Lifting you into the bath?"

"You know what I mean. I'm rather bruised."

He shifted a little, "I don't want it to be uncomfortable _for you_, my seeing you… touching you…" His voice clouded over slightly and she reached for his hand.

"Charles. Don't ever confuse what that man did to me to what we have. Our lovemaking is so far removed from what I had with him that they might as well be classed as different acts. They are different acts. I don't want it to affect what we have."

"It won't."

"Then don't be embarrassed around me, don't change how you act. You don't have to handle me with kid gloves or be afraid to touch me." She smiled nervously, "Unless of course, it's altered how you view me."

"My darling," he clasped his hand over hers, "nothing ever could."

"Good." She leant forward, grimacing a little at the movement. "So, can you run a bath for me, undress me?"

"Of course." He kissed her forehead. "And wash your back too."

"How about my hair?" She pulled a face. "It's been three days since I rinsed it?"

"I'll give it a go."

He filled the tub first; there were no less than five bottles of bath oil in the cabinet and he couldn't recall which was her favourite so instead he put in a drop of each before laying a towel on the mat by the tub and fetching across the chair from the other side of the bathroom to sit beside her.

When he returned to the bedroom she'd slipped off her robe and was waiting for him to help.

"Okay, think it's the right temperature. So, let's get this thing off then…" He eased down the blankets, his fingertips grazing over her shin as he did so. She shifted her leg slightly, shuddering, but when he looked up at her, her mouth was twisted into a smile.

"That tickled."

"Sorry." He took his time as he pushed the nightgown up her legs, letting her lean against his shoulders as she lifted her bottom enough for him to get it up to her waist, and then she raised her arms as he took it off completely.

He'd seen her naked of course, immediately following the attack when she'd been shaking and embarrassed and he'd held her as they'd dressed her wounds and taken photographs.

This was different. That was unimaginable horror mixed with clinical accuracy. This was them. This was intimacy.

The angry red marks that had decorated her pale skin two days earlier were now easing into purple blemishes. Gathered beneath her ribs were clusters of red and yellow bruising, and it was this that caused her pain as she lifted her hands to his shoulders and he eased one arm beneath her legs, the other around her back.

"Okay, you ready?"

"I _am_ going to yelp, Charles, just don't put me back down until it's in the bath, right?"

"Right."

She closed her eyes and he watched as she bit her lip, "Just go – 1, 2, 3!"

And then he lifted her. And then she screamed and he almost put her down again but she squeezed his shoulder and he hurried through to the bathroom, settling her gently and delicately in the bath.

She sank back, groaning as the warm water enclosed her.

"Alright?" He asked, nervously.

"Much better." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, "Cup of tea, perhaps?"

"That I can do, madam."

He let her soak for a while, sat beside her chatting over inane things – the latest politician embroiled in scandal, the fluctuating price of petrol, Charles even let her prattle on about what she thought about the latest Emmerdale storylines, as long as it distracted her.

Finally, she sat forward and he moved closer to the tub, unhooking her hair from the bobble it was tied up in and filling a jug with water.

"Never done this before."

"Be gentle with me, then. Good practice for when you're having to wash Charlotte's hair when she's older."

"I think you're sitting a bit stiller than she would."

"True." She leant her head back; eyes closed, and enjoyed the sensation of his hands in her hair, lathering the shampoo, so gentle, so sure. "Remember when you called me once? I'd been out with Beryl for dinner and we wanted to talk because we hadn't all day. And it was late and I needed a shower but I had a bath instead so we could talk."

He smiled, "I remember. It was the first time you called me 'honey' that night."

"Oh, so it was." She moved to crane her neck back to look at him then grimaced and re-thought the move. "You're very sweet to me, see, always have been. I wasn't used to it, someone being so kind to me, so sweet."

He rinsed the last of the soapsuds from her hair and bent forward to kiss her forehead, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. "Always will be. You know, I know you don't really want to do this but we should talk about how you want to proceed, with the charges I mean…"

"You're right, I don't want to talk about it. Not now. Let me think for a couple of days, hmm? Right now, let's go order our Chinese food and find a rubbish movie."

"You know, I'm going to have drive to town to pick this food up." He said, moving to get a towel for her. "They won't deliver out here."

"Would you begrudge me that?"

"No. But I don't particularly want to leave you alone."

She stared at him for a second; she really hadn't considered that aspect of it.

"I won't be alone," she finally said. "My babies are here."

"That they are. Now, how do you want to do this?"

"Just," she held her arms up, "put your hands under my arms, and yank me up."

"_Yank you up_?! You're not a rag doll."

She chuckled, the first time she'd laughed in days. "I guess not, maybe something like yanking me up but a whole lot gentler."

Shaking his head he lifted her, let her lean against him as she pain eased back in and she stood still readjusting. Then he wrapped a towel around her and lifted her out, standing her on the mat as he dried her body and put her a clean nightgown and her robe back on.

"Do I need to dry your hair too, now?"

"Not just yet, let me have a glass of wine first."

"Aren't you on painkillers?" He asked, as she hobbled across the bathroom.

"Not fucking working, are they?"

* * *

Charles had arranged the sofa so could sit facing the television without having to turn. There were pillows stacked behind her and he'd brought the coffee table over so her drinks, the telephone and her painkillers were within easy reach.

He watched her as she scanned the Chinese menu, peering over her glasses as William climbed into her lap and curled up in a tiny ball. Smiling, she rested her hand on his back and let her fingers sink into his fur.

"Okay, I've decided." She glanced over at him, "You got a pen? Or am I ringing up?"

The front doorbell rang and he got to his feet, "You ring, I'll go get that."

When he returned several minutes later Izzy came in behind him carrying a tray bearing a teapot and cups.

"I wondered where you'd disappeared to…" She started to say, then she saw Isobel and quieted.

"Hello Elsie," Izzy said, popping the tray down on the table beside her.

Elsie looked away; keenly aware of the state she looked. She didn't want Isobel to see her; she didn't really want anyone to see her.

"Don't worry, love," Izzy said, resting her hand on Elsie's shoulder. "I'm not here to cause trouble."

She moved to sit in the chair facing her and, to her credit, didn't bat an eyelid when she got the full view of Elsie's swollen face.

"I asked her to come sit with you." He explained.

"Charles!" Elsie complained. "I'm not a child."

"Not for you, for me. I'd feel better knowing you're not alone."

Cheeks flushing red, Elsie glanced back at Isobel's patient face. "You're all dressed up." She noted.

"I'm going to the theatre, meeting them there in about an hour."

"Charles –," Elsie grumbled again.

"It's fine," Izzy assured her, leaning forward to pour their tea. "We can have a chat."

"I'll be twenty, twenty-five minutes at most." He said, before turning away. On second-thoughts he returned and kissed the top of Elsie's head. "Won't be long."

Isobel handed her a teacup as the front door closed and she listened to Charles' car pulled away.

"I'm sorry, he's being rather over-protective."

"With good reason. It would seem." Isobel sipped her tea.

"Yes, well." Elsie leant back and sipped her tea. "What are you going to see at the theatre?"

"Would you believe a local production of _A View from the Bridge_?" She smiled. "I remember studying that play at school, a lifetime ago."

"I've actually never seen it, Charles always says we should get out to see more."

"Elsie, let's skip the small talk, shall we?"

"Alright." She breathed deeply, feeling decidedly nervous. "…If that's what you want."

"You know, what I admire about you – well, one of the things – is that you're a straight talker."

Elsie bit down on her lip, tapping her fingernails against her teacup. "Okay."

"So, I'm going to be honest with you…"

"Isobel, really, you don't have to say anything. Charles shouldn't have brought you here…"

"No, listen. You see, I know you and I haven't always… I've been a bitch to you at times, I know that." She put her teacup down, sitting forward in her chair, her hands clasped together on her lap. "There, that's me being honest."

Elsie allowed herself a small smile, biting the inside of her cheek to keep it in check.

"You see, when he first started dating you, he was so excited, so exuberant about it all. And time went on and he fell deeper and deeper in love, that much was obvious to me, even by Christmas. And especially after New Year, though he may not have admitted it to himself at that point. I know him, it was clear to see."

Elsie remained silent, listening attentively, remembering back to those times – perhaps she knew it too. As much as she railed against it and pushed him away, she knew, and she wanted it, otherwise she wouldn't have allowed it to go on.

"I wasn't sure about you. You were elusive. To me you seemed difficult – he'd been with you for months yet we'd never met you. He talked non-stop about you, yet you never accompanied him to anything. I worried you were using him."

"You know I…"

Izzy held her hand up, "No, I need to say this. You see, even though I guessed it'd been a messy break-up from your ex-husband, from the snippets of things Charles said, I never imagined it had been anything like this."

Both women stared at each other in silence, appreciating that sometimes things don't need to be explained. Sometimes, you just knew.

"I think you're a very brave woman Elsie, and I don't just mean for coping with what you coped with all those years. I mean for this," she waved her hand about. "For being brave enough to build a new life with Charles. For having the strength to."

"Well," Elsie paused, licking her bottom lip. "I'm not quite sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to." Isobel got up, taking Elsie's cup from her and squeezing her hand as she did so. "Let's just be friends, how about that?"

* * *

Helping Elsie from the car and into the waiting room, though awkward to see her in such pain, was a welcome distraction from Charles' own nerves.

He loathed admitting it, but he felt incredibly nervous about meeting Elsie's therapist, Doctor Bloom. For some odd reason he felt like he was going to be judged, held up for scrutiny, which was a ridiculous and selfish idea really considering the state Elsie was still in.

In her office the therapist took Elsie's hand as they entered from the waiting room and helped her to her usual chair. It wasn't needed, Charles was there, but the gesture appreciated.

"So," the Doctor said gently, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap.

Elsie smiled, "So. Rather awkward." She reached over and rested her hand on top of Charles', stilling his nervously tapping fingers on top of his knee.

"Very nice to finally meet you, Charles." The Doctor smiled. "Though I feel like we've already met, Elsie's spoken so much about you."

"Well, I… I'm not quite sure how to respond to that." He said shakily.

"He's nervous about meeting you." Elsie said, folding her hand reassuringly around his.

"Why are you nervous, Charles?"

He shrugged, "I guess I worry what your advice might be, in relation to what's happened, I mean."

"I don't give advice. I just listen. But what do you fear I'd say?"

"That she'd be better being alone, getting her head clear. Now she's strong enough to."

"I don't think that," Elsie said. "If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be strong enough to."

"How do you feel, Elsie, now, with a few days between you and the attack?" The Doctor asked.

"Better, actually. I feel free. As odd as that might sound."

Charles sat back, silent, content to listen to her open up.

"Can you explain why?" Doctor Bloom pressed.

Elsie shrugged, "Because now I know why he did it, all those years. I guess a part of me has always blamed myself, and now I can safely assure myself he is the one in the wrong. Not me. And besides, I stood up to him. I wasn't physically strong enough to really fight him off, of course, so thank god for Charles coming home. But I did fight; he knew I wasn't going to just accept it this time. And I needed that – I needed to do that for me."

"And, now that you have, do you think you've dealt with things?"

"I think I've dealt with some things. I think, in a way… what I mean is I've come to realise, over the past two years, that I may have married Joe to escape my father, that farm. But in some way I married the man who reminded me the most _of_ my father. And I let him treat me that way because it's all I knew of marriage. Of so-called 'love'. And fighting him like that, in some way it was how I'd always wanted to respond to my Dad, to stop him doing what he did to my mother. Does that sound feasible?"

"I think it does." Charles said softly.

Elsie glanced to him, her eyes gentle as she smiled. "You don't have to worry, you know," she said directly to him. "About touching me, showing me affection. What he did to me has no bearing upon us."

She turned in her chair, facing him, forgetting almost about the other woman in the room. "You see, before you I'd never had any chance to explore these kind of feelings. Sometimes I think back to our time in Dubai, or even Edinburgh, and I'd never been so forward with sex."

He blushed, keenly aware of the therapist listening.

"I'd never known passion, real passion, and intimacy. I could let go of my inhibitions because I trusted you. I never really knew that side of me existed, that I could have sensuality and that nervous excitement that came with it, and that whatever we did or said, I'd wake in the morning and you'd still be there, and there'd be no judgement, no recriminations. It was overwhelming at first, discovering that."

"You know I'd never had that either, I've told you that before, haven't I?"

"You have. And I'm only saying this because I need you to know that we haven't changed. That the way I felt about you Sunday afternoon was the same way I felt about you Sunday morning, maybe even – impossibly – even deeper. I'm a stronger person than I ever was, but I'm secure in this Charles, in us."

Charles glanced sideways to the Doctor, "I feel rather embarrassed having this chat in front of you."

"No need to be. It can be disconcerting at first, being in here."

"But it helps," Elsie interrupted. "It has helped. It's forced me to face things and that's been painful and messy but I'm so thankful for it now, God knows how much. I still don't know what I'm going to do next in regards to him," she shrugged. "But I'll get there. I'm not going to rush my decision."

She felt Charles lift her hand and kiss the back of it. She was right, whatever happened now they were secure together.

* * *

**One week later**

Dinner was long since over and yet they lingered around the dining room table. Anna and Elsie across from each other, Charlotte sleeping in Elsie's arms after waking in tears an hour earlier and needing to be changed. And Charles at the opposite end, opening a new bottle of single malt for them to sample.

"So, you heard from John?" Charles asked as he filled their glasses.

"Yeah, he rang around lunchtime to say he'd arrived safely, and I got a text a couple of hours ago. I'm not expecting anything else now until the morning," she took the glass from him. "You know how stag nights can get."

"Thankfully I've never been to any too rowdy or vulgar." He smiled.

"Can you imagine, a stripper sitting on Charles' knee?" Elsie teased. "_I'm sorry, but could you remove yourself from my lap, your baby-oil-covered skin is damaging my trousers_." She said, imitating him.

"Very bloody funny, sometimes you're too cheeky for your own good." He turned to Anna. "All week I've had this."

Anna laughed, "Been winding you up a bit has she this past week? She's terrible when she's bored."

"And I am bored. Believe me. Just sitting around all day."

"But getting better, you seem to be moving better." Charles stated.

"When you thinking of going back to work?" Anna asked.

Elsie rocked the baby in her arms, settling her again as she mumbled in her sleep. "A couple more weeks I think. I really don't relish the idea of anyone spotting my bruised face."

"I can understand that." She took a long drink of the whisky; licking her lips of the liquid and feeling it burn against her lungs before she spoke again. "I need to see him." Anna said resolutely, and Elsie's head shot up.

"You what?"

"I need to see him, mum. I need to speak to him."

"To do what? Give him time to explain, excuse himself?"

"As if he ever could." Anna leant her elbows on the table, swirling the whisky in her glass. She was no stranger to strong liquor, her mother was Scottish after all, but after months of being teetotal the nightcap was certainly knocking her for six. "That's not why I want to see him."

"Then why?" Charles asked gently, and Anna was surprised by the strength in his voice as she glanced to the other side of the table where he sat.

"I need him to know what I think of him. I need to say it _to_ him, in my own words, so he's in no doubt. I want to look him in the eye and make it clear that he no longer has a daughter."

Elsie's lungs expanded as she breathed deeply, she looked down to Charlotte asleep in her arms. The sweetest, most innocent face she'd ever seen.

"Have you made a decision?" Anna asked.

"Yes. I think so."

"And?"

Elsie looked across the table to her daughter's face, tired and weary from the trials of being a new mother, and from the trauma of the past week.

And then to Charles. Silent and unwavering as he reached for the bottle and refilled all of their glasses.

"I'm going to go ahead with it. Press charges. It would be easier not to," she shrugged, and looked down to Charlotte again. "And I don't know what's going to happen, whether we'll have to go to court, or settle, what his punishment will be. But I feel he_ should_ be punished." She held Anna's gaze again, "Because I've been punished enough all these years. And for every woman out there suffering something even remotely similar, I feel I owe it to them to make sure he pays for what he did."

The room was silent for a long time after she'd spoken. Charles swirled the ice in his glass, Anna tapped her fingernails against the table top, the old Grandfather clock in the hallway swung its seconds and they all breathed.

"I think that's very brave." Charles finally said and she smiled weakly at him.

"Brave or stupid."

"Brave, mum, brave." Anna assured her. "As easier as it might be to walk away and leave him in the past, he doesn't deserve to be let off. Not again." She pushed her chair back from the table and came around the back of Elsie's chair, sliding her hands over her mum's shoulders and hugging her back against her as she kissed her head. "I love you mum."

"I love you too, darling." She reached up to pat one hand with hers. "Both of my girls."

"Mmm, I think your girls should go to bed."

"Alright." She gently passed the sleeping baby up to Anna. "You need any help?"

"No, we're fine; thanks for letting us stay though, didn't fancy a night alone in the flat."

"You know you're always welcome," Charles said. "All of you."

"Thank you Charles." Anna moved closer to him, dipping down slightly so he could kiss Charlotte's head.

"Night, night baby girl." He whispered, rubbing his thumb gently on her forehead. He looked up at Anna, "I'll go with you."

"What?"

"When you go to see Joe, I'll go with you. I don't want you to go alone and John… well, he can have a temper."

"And you'd be calm?" Anna asked, wide-eyed.

"For you, yes." He briefly rested his hand on Anna's arm, "You're not going alone."

She nodded, "Alright. Thank you."

"Good. Now, goodnight."

"Night." She made her way across the room, stopping by the door and glancing back to where the two of them sat at the table, Charles had stretched his hand out across to Elsie and she was lacing her fingers with his. And it dawned on her – her parents.

"So, does this mean I actually get to call you 'dad' now?" Anna suddenly said. "Or would you prefer father?"

Blinking rapidly Charles opened his mouth to respond but found his tongue suddenly dry. He licked his lips "Dad will be fine."

Anna nodded curtly, "Good." Then smiled and disappeared upstairs.

Reaching for her tumbler, Elsie lifted it up and held it towards his until he tapped her glass with his. "It seems you're a fully-fledged member of the family now…Dad."

"Yeah. Goodness…" He drained his whisky in one go then shook his head, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. When he looked up Elsie was smiling at his falling tears. "Sentimental old fool." He mocked.

"Nonsense."

"I guess. Not every day you become a father, is it?"

"Oh, I think you've been one for quite a while now honey, in all but name." She squeezed his hand, "And a damn good one too."

* * *

**Mid-June**

Charles had never been an aggressive man. He turned away from conflict wherever possible. He didn't even like arguing with Elsie, and he was more than secure now in the belief that even when they did argue they'd be fine. But there was something unsettling about not being in agreement with her – luckily they were usually so in sync that his world ticked along just fine.

Yet that morning, an oddly bright and breezy morning in June, he felt like he was on his way to be shot.

When he'd collected Anna from the shop he expected to find her as nervous as he was. Surprisingly, she seemed fine, resolute in what she wanted to do. There was something of Elsie's steel in her, an inner strength when it came down to the wire that he marvelled at.

"You don't have to come in, you know," she'd said as they'd pulled into the drive. "I will be okay."

"I said I'd come with you and I meant it." He pulled on the handbrake, pointing to the 'for sale' sign that was stuck in the ground by the main gate. "He's selling up?"

"News to me." Anna shrugged. "This farm's been in his family for generations. So if he is, I'm surprised."

"Well, happen we'll find out why." He opened his door. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Sarah answered the door, looking dishevelled and distracted.

"Oh, Anna. This is a bit…" She looked at the man standing behind her, nervously hovering. "Are you…? Blimey."

"Is he here?" Anna asked, her voice clear and strong.

"Where else would he be?" Sarah stood back from the door, granting them entrance to the hallway. There were boxes piled up, all labelled ready for storage.

"You're moving?" Anna asked.

"I am. I've been offered a job in India, I start in a fortnight. He was meant to be coming with me…but now, well, who knows. He didn't tell you?"

"I think I know why he didn't." Anna mumbled. "Where is he?"

"Lounge. Still can't do much, you know, with his arm." She glanced at Charles. "Do I get you tea or something?"

"We won't be here that long." Anna stated.

"Well then, feel free." Sarah said, pointing in the direction of where Joe was.

Charles felt oddly sorry for the woman, in her mind they were happily preparing for a new life elsewhere, a baby and a new job and a new country. How was she to know her husband would use the opportunity to carry out some sort of last chance hurt upon his ex-wife?

"Thank you," he said. "And I'm sorry we've had to disturb you."

Sarah shrugged, "I've learnt not to plan, just go with whatever life throws at you. I am sorry though, for what he did to her. I think you should know that."

He nodded, following a quickly retreating Anna.

For the past few days Charles had spent the early mornings, when he woke unable to sleep, imagining how he'd react when he saw this man again – would he be able to control his anger? Would he snap and want to kill him? Or could he somehow find a way to hold it together and just support Anna, to be there if she needed him to be?

What he didn't expect was that this ogre of a man, this man who had become some evil spectre in their lives, would simply be broken and pitiful.

As he viewed him laying on the sofa, a blanket over his legs, his arm in plaster, he looked very old and very tired. There was nothing to fear. He was just a sad and deeply disturbed man.

"Anna," he heard Joe say, surprise and desperation in his voice. "How are you? How's Charlotte?"

Anna held her hand up to silence him. "This will go better if you don't speak."

Joe glanced to Charles who did his best to stand behind Anna, yet far enough away that she didn't feel crowded. She needed to do this alone as much as possible, he understood that.

"I needed to see you because I need to look you in the eye and tell you we're done." She breathed deeply, as if saying those words had been something she'd kept locked in her heart for far too long and the effort of releasing them exhausted her. "I cannot express how much I despise you. I've tried, believe me, all these years, to understand your actions, to pity you, to help you, to try and forgive you. It was easier maybe because there was no physical evidence and mum, god damn it, mum always let you get away with it."

Charles shifted uneasily from foot-to-foot, avoiding Joe's eyes, feeling trapped by the dark, warm oppressiveness of the room.

"Well, fuck you Joe." She said pointedly. "Because you deserve nothing but my hate, and I'll always hate you, always. There's no pity, no forgiveness, just emptiness for you."

"You might feel that way now –," he started.

"I will always feel that way! Don't try and control me, or turn this around. I'm my mother's daughter and she's stronger than you could ever be. So, this is how it's going to be. We will never see or hear from you again. Ever. If we do I won't be held responsible for my actions. You will never see Charlotte. You forget we exist because you no longer exist to me."

As awkward as this all was Charles couldn't recall ever feeling prouder of someone.

"You're nothing to me and never will be again. You are not my father. This is my Dad – and I love him. And he's done more for us than you ever could."

Joe shifted uneasily on the sofa, attempting to get to his feet but he wobbled and fell back, his body failing him.

"When you find yourself in the position of being held to account you make it as easy for mum as you can, you accept all blame, do you understand me? You take the blame and you accept what you have done. _You_. Nobody else."

He closed his eyes.

"That's it," Anna sighed, stepping back and finding her back against Charles' chest. He reached to squeeze her upper arm reassuringly.

"That's all I have to say." She breathed deeply for a few seconds as if fighting her emotions, trying to find a way to end it and walk cleanly away.

"I think that's enough," Charles said by her ear. "Let's go."

He held her hand as he escorted her from the room; Charles could feel Joe's eyes on their back but neither turned around, neither gave him a second glance.

* * *

**Late June**

Reaching round and zipping up the back of her skirt Elsie tucked in her camisole and moved to the mirror, picking up her brush from the side and easing out the tangles from her hair.

Behind her she spotted Charles sitting up in bed, hands resting nervously on top of the sheets as he watched her.

"What?" She said, taking out the concealer from her make-up bag and beginning to apply it.

"What?"

"Don't 'what' me back. You're staring at me."

"Nothing so nice as watching you fit your bottom into a lovely skirt."

She rolled her eyes at him, "What are you really thinking about?"

"You sure it's not too soon…?"

"To go back to work? Of course not. I've been off three weeks." She ran the blusher brush over her cheeks. "I need to get back, I'm bored to death."

"Oh thanks!"

"You know what I mean. It'll be good for me." Putting her make-up bag away she moved back to his side of the bed, leaning over to kiss him. "I want to enjoy the last few weeks of the year with the kids anyhow, I've rather missed their antics."

* * *

Elsie's sentiments weren't quite so heartfelt some four hours later when she found her only free hour of the day, just prior to lunch, had been taken up covering another absent staff member's lesson.

A Year 8 maths cover. A subject she wasn't particularly strong at even when in the best of moods. Added to that she seemed to have lost a class. A fact that the majority of the staff would find hilarious no doubt. The cover information listed M4 as their classroom – but when she got there (five minutes late) said classroom was bare. Logging onto the computer and searching for the class name she found that on their timetable it was listed as Geo2 – the next block along. Leaving her things where they were she headed out in search of the lost group, only to find a class already in there and the teacher insisting the group had done a swap to M4.

She wasn't quite ready for this kind of nonsense on her first day back and as she traipsed back across to the maths block she felt the pinch of her shoes on her toes. She'd been wearing little more than slippers and flip-flops since she'd been off; heels were an unwelcome necessity.

Finding the classroom still empty she called reception from the maths office.

"Yeah, the class are meant to be in M4," the young man on reception stated.

"Yes. I know that. But they aren't, so where are they?" Elsie insisted,

"But they're _meant_ to be," the receptionist helpfully offered again.

Just as she felt she might be about to completely lose her mind and have to go searching the school for a lost class of twenty-eight students they casually wandered down the corridor outside the office.

Putting down the phone she strode after them, shepherding them into the room.

"And where have you all been?" She asked as they sat down, not shouting but making her voice strong enough to make her feelings on the matter clear.

"Said a different room on our timetable, Miss."

"Funny that, because of the two rooms I've been given on your timetable you were in neither."

"Honest, Miss," a girl butted in. "We were sat in A4, not M4."

"An Art room for a maths lesson?" She said, seating herself at the desk. "Of course."

"We have German in a Biology lab for one lesson Miss." Another boy protested.

"Well, you'll be happy to know Miss. Clark has left you a mock exam paper to prepare for your end of year test. So, if you want to get your pens out and spread yourselves out across the room we might get started – some twenty minutes late."

She called out names from the register as they set themselves up. "Tabitha?" No reply. "Tabitha?" She asked again, looking up at the class. "No one seen her?"

"She was in reg, Miss."

"Has she gone home? Was she ill?"

"She disappeared after P.E. Miss Hughes," one of the more polite girls said gently. "We didn't see her come back to get changed."

"Lord above," Elsie whispered under her breath as she got up to hand the exam papers out. "Right, well, you lot get on with this and I guess I'll go find this girl. I'll be leaving that door open too, so no talking, no whispering, no cheating. Remember I'm old and have magic skills you can only dream of!"

She nipped into the classroom next-door and whispered to the teacher to keep an eye on her cover class whilst she located a missing student and headed off down the corridor towards the P.E. block.

Rounding the corner, heels clattering against the tiled floor, she paused by the coat hooks. There were piles of abandoned P.E. bags and art folders; coats probably left hanging there since about March and beneath that a pair of feet sticking out in plimsolls.

Sighing heavily, she crouched down beside the legs, feeling her ribs protest at the movement.

"Tabitha?" She asked gently, "Are you in there?"

The coats shook slightly as the girl nodded. "And are you alright?"

The coats shook again.

"Do you think you might come out here dear? And let me talk to you."

No response.

"Oh goodness, Tabitha, my legs can't take sitting here." She sat back on her bottom, the strain instantly leaving her leg muscles, even as she contemplated the grimy floor she'd placed her skirt on. "If you won't come out here, can I come talk to you?"

The girl pushed forward one of the coats so Elsie could see her face, red and puffy from crying.

"Ah, now that's better. Have we met before?"

"No. You're Miss Hughes though, I know that."

"I am."

"You teach History. You taught my older brother four years ago, Scott Brown."

"I remember him, how is he?"

"He's a bit of an idiot, Miss." The girl folded her arms across her chest and pouted her lips.

"So, do you want to tell me why you're sitting under the coats?"

"Not really."

"Okay. Well, _will_ you tell my why you're sitting under the coats?"

The girl shrugged, her glasses slipping down her nose.

"I don't think this is a shrug answer unfortunately dear. People will be wondering where you are, where you got to. You're still in your P.E. kit."

"I hate P.E. I'm rubbish at it."

"You're thirteen and built like a greyhound, I'm sure you're not."

"I am Miss. No co-ordination. I'm not much good at anything."

"That's not true. Come on. You must have talents."

"I fail every subject."

"You don't just have talents in subjects, Tabitha, you have other skills too, outside of school." She watched the girl's face as she stared at her feet, batting the toe end of her plimsolls together repeatedly. "Tabitha's a lovely name."

"It's awful. People pick on it. Was after my gran."

Elsie smiled, "Mine too. And yes, kids picked on my name too."

"What is it?"

"A secret. If I tell you, you can't go spreading it round the school."

"Deal."

"Elspeth."

"I've never heard that name before."

"It's not all that common. It can be tough, I know, feeling like you're different."

"I bet you were dead smart at school, Miss."

"Not really. I didn't work very hard; nobody in my family did, not at school anywhere. I grew up on a farm."

The girl looked properly at her for the first time. "I live on a farm."

"I know. I remember from Scott."

"You must have a good memory."

"I remember important things. Do you not like living on the farm?"

Tabitha shrugged, "It's not so bad, kids pick on me though. Call me Tabby cat."

"How original."

"Say I'm dirty, I have dirt under my nails some mornings from my chores and they… they say I'm stupid."

"Who does?"

"All of them."

"Girls in your class?"

"And boys."

She was quiet again and Elsie let her have a couple of minutes before she spoke.

"You know they can't get away with that, don't you?" She asked gently. "Because we'll do something about it, make it stop. I can take some names down and report it…"

"Not just that Miss." She closed her eyes, already red-rimmed but filling with tears again. Elsie felt the overwhelming urge to put an arm around her young shoulders for comfort, but she couldn't, even though it went against her instincts.

"What else?" She said softly.

"They… they beat me."

"Beat you?" She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"They kick me, you know. Punch, sometimes, in the toilets. They kicked me today in P.E. See…" She shifted her leg and Elsie noted the line of bruises forming on the girl's outer thigh.

"Oh my goodness, Tabitha." She covered her mouth. "Why did you never tell anyone?"

"Used to happen to Scott too. He never told anyone, only me, don't wanna bother Dad, he's on his own since mum left... They call us gypsies, thickos."

"You can't just ignore it, sweetheart, you have to tell people. Get help. We'll make it stop, I can promise you that."

"They tell me I deserve it, because I'm stupid and dirty."

She pressed her hand lightly against the girl's arm. "Nobody has the right to make you feel like this is what you deserve. Nobody. Believe me. This is not how human beings treat other human beings and the children doing it to you will be severely punished."

Tabitha cried openly now, holding Elsie's gaze. "Everyone will hate me for telling."

"Nobody will hate you. I'm disgusted this has gone on. Disgusted. And heartbroken for you, that you've coped on your own with this. I have a granddaughter now and I can't bear to think of anyone hurting her, of hurting any child."

She pushed herself to her feet, leaning against the wall to support her body and grimacing as she stood.

"You alright Miss? You look in pain." The girl snuffled, getting to her knees.

"Fell over the other week, hurt my ribs. But I'm fine, healing. Come on, we need to get you down to Mrs. Roy's office and get this out in the open."

Grudgingly the girl got to her feet. "I don't want to go alone."

"Alright. Do you have anyone in there…?" She indicated the classroom with a nod of her head.

"Can't you come?"

"Well, I can. Why don't you just wait in the office for me, it's not long until lunch and then we can go together. If that's what you want?"

Unexpectedly, the girl pressed herself against Elsie, her arms pulling her into a hug. Elsie kept her arms by her side, the mother in her would give in to the hug, the teacher in her remembered the rules.

"Now, you go on. Just wait in there, get yourself a glass of water, I won't be long."

She stared at the retreating diminutive figure and closed her eyes briefly. Oh but for the grace of god there walked herself.

* * *

When she got home that night, tired and emotionally drained, Charles greeted her in the hallway. He was wearing an apron and had a wooden spoon in one hand which he held aloft as he spoke and she couldn't help but smile as she stood back against the door and took in his appearance.

"Well, how did first day back go?"

"Fan-bloody-tastic!" She sighed, dropping her bags to the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Making parsley sauce for the fish."

"Home made?" She slipped off her shoes.

"Of course."

Grinning she made her way down the hall to him, "I bloody love you."

"I should hope so, because I made lemon tart too."

And she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.

"I wish everyone could find a Charles Carson."

"Tough day?"

"One bit was. I'll tell you over dinner. Do I have time to shower?"

"I'm just going to cook the fish."

"I'll be quick then. Pour me a large glass of wine, I need it."

* * *

**Early July**

They gathered outside the church, the vicar leading the way down the path and towards the patch of land he thought perfectly placed for photographs. It was mid-afternoon and the sun high, the sky clear, and Charles felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

He watched Elsie navigate the cobbles in front of him; she'd met them at the church after work and heels and fitted dress weren't the best of outfits for a blisteringly hot afternoon. But she looked well, healthy, happy, and that was what mattered most.

Behind him Charlotte was murmuring in Anna's arms, grizzly no doubt from the heat and having her routine disturbed.

Reverend Travis paused beneath the trees and they were all glad of the shade.

"A wonderful spot, you see. If you gather here for the photographer then you can have the church in the background and…" he paused as Charlotte wailed and balled. "Somebody's out of sorts. Poor thing."

"She's been like this for the past few days," Anna explained.

"It's the heat. She's not sleeping." John added, readjusting the hat on his daughter's head.

She wailed again, filling the summer day with her cries.

"Here, let me take her." Charles said, stepping forward. "You talk to Reverend Travis, it's your Christening day. I'll take her in the church, it's likely cooler in there."

Lifting the delicate, fragile weight from Anna's arms he observed the baby's scrunched up face, red and puckered from crying. She was so tiny she disappeared in his large hands.

"Hey, sweetie, what's this noise about? Do you just want some attention, is that it?" He cradled her in the crook of his arm, and rocked her very gently. "Come find us when you're done talking."

He headed off from the others, out of the bright sunshine and into the cool solitude of the church.

"That's better, isn't it? Out of that nasty sunshine." He rocked the baby as he walked around, it was a place he'd known all his life and the quiet stillness of it never failed to move him, or centre him when he was unsure.

"This is one of my most favourite places," he said, his voice echoing in the large, empty space. He paused in front of a stained glass window, brilliant and aglow with the sunshine filling it. Charlotte's eyes blinked as she gazed up at his face, and he ran his thumb over her nose. "Now that's better, no more crying hey. Don't want to ruin your voice."

He moved slightly, turning so she could face the window, the array of colours sliding over her tiny face. "You like those, don't you? I wonder which your favourite will be – red, pink, yellow?" He kissed her head.

Turning from the window he headed toward the altar, listening to Charlotte gurgle in his arms.

"This is where we'll stand for the christening, no need to feel nervous with all those people looking at you though. Are you excited? I bet you get excited when we sing, because you like music, don't you sweetheart? And here in this beautiful place with all of your family and those that care about you, you'll love it. So, don't get nervous when Reverend Travis takes you, or when he wets your head."

He rocked her for a while, watching as she pushed her fist forward against her blanket. Easing it to the side, he let her grab his thumb and smiled as her tiny fingers wrapped around his nail.

"Some people will think it out-dated," he mused as he took a seat in the front pew, settling Charlotte in his arms. "Christenings. You might even think the same, when you're old enough to know. But I'm glad we're doing it. '_And whoever receives one such child in My name receives Me_.'" He said aloud, recalling the many christenings he'd attended with his mother, even when he didn't know the couple involved. But he always bought a gift, played the part.

"It makes me happy, to celebrate your birth as much as anything." He glanced down at her face, wide-awake and listening to him. "You've already brought me so much joy, darling, so much." As he bent to kiss her head; she gurgled and smiled at him, waving her fist in the air.

He looked up to the altar again, stretching his legs out, "One day, I'll marry your Grandma here. One day. And I'll be nervous, never mind me telling you not to be. Standing right there, terrified I'll say the wrong thing or trip up. And she'll walk right down there," he indicated the aisle. "Looking beautiful and serene. Calm. No doubt you'll play your part. If you're walking by then. It can't come a day too soon Charlotte, I don't mind telling you, I've waited a lifetime for her. A lifetime."

He sighed, looking to the baby's face as she gripped his finger again. "You don't mind Grandad going on and being silly now, do you? Silly old granddad!" He rubbed his nose against the baby's. "Silly, silly. I hope you get to find something like this sweetheart, someone who loves you as much as I love your Grandmother. That's what I wish for you."

"Goodness," he heard Reverend Travis say from the back of the church. "You'll have us all in tears."

He twisted his neck to look behind him, feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck and smother his face. "Oh dear." He whispered. "Now, don't all be laughing at an old man's sentimentality."

Elsie was smiling at him, her head tipped to one side as she chewed on her nail. He caught her eye and shrugged, getting to his feet, rocking the baby. "She just likes to be talked to, makes her settle."

Elsie was already getting close to them, an endearing look upon her face, her eyes bright, soft. "Charles…" He said when she reached the altar where he stood. She placed her hand on Charlotte's head, rubbing tiny circles with her thumb, and then stood on her tiptoes to lean forward and kiss him deeply, in sight of the other three.

"Oh goodness." The Reverend said again. "This is too much." He suddenly clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's do it. Let's just do this."

"Do what?" Anna asked, following him down to the front of the church.

"Right here, let's do it, let's get you two married. The church is booked that afternoon for the christening; let's make it a double celebration. We have time yet to organise it, read the bans, put together something small."

Charles turned to him, handing over a now sleeping Charlotte to John.

"Something small? Just the guests already invited. And then still back at the house afterwards?" He was already excited. "That would work?" he turned to Elsie. "That would work, wouldn't it?" he stepped nervously close to her, taking her hands, "Not too much of a rush, if we do it this summer? This August?"

She shook her head gently, her eyes already filled with tears.

"I think it would be lovely." Anna said. "Marrying as we christen Charlotte."

"It would be beautiful," Elsie whispered, squeezing his hands. "Beautiful."

"So, you want to?" He said, earnestly. "You want to do this, marry me?"

"Of course I do." She felt like her smile was too big for her face. "Do you want to marry me?"

"Don't be silly." He pulled her into his embrace, resting his chin on her head. "I feel I've waited forever for it."

* * *

**_One to go... :-(_**


	50. Chapter 50

_**To Charles and Elsie, for giving me the story.**_

**Chapter 50!** _(Simultaneously jumps for joy and cries in a corner)_

* * *

**August 2014**

"_If you'd like to have dinner one night, that would be nice."_

That's what he'd said. Hadn't he? A statement of fact rather than a question. And she'd replayed the words perhaps a hundred times since he'd nervously uttered them. Her face flushed, her mood giddy, as she'd exited his shop and walked back to her car in the dwindling afternoon sunshine.

Of course, it didn't occur to her at the time to wonder how anxious he was. To even contemplate how long he'd spent mulling over asking that particular question. Months of knowing she was single, (available?), lying in bed and turning the words over in his mind, picturing the situation, the exact perfect moment. And then he blurts out this ill-prepared line formed of teenage-like-anxieties over who he was and why she'd even bother feigning interest in him.

But, such is life. She had said yes. Had smiled and, yes, even flirted with him.

For a while she sat in her car staring at the small section of her face that she could see in the mirror. She wasn't bad looking, not for a woman of her age; she could think that about herself – couldn't she, without appearing vain or egotistical? But still, she wondered what he wanted. They'd known each other for years, had chatted and passed the time of day, occasionally smiled, occasionally laughed. Did he mean it as dinner for two lonely people who were bordering politely on being friends? Or did he see more there, the beginnings of dating perhaps?

The thought made her stomach flip and she covered it with the palm of her hand, her eyes briefly closing.

She'd never dated. Not really. Being a kid at school and messing around with the boys in the class – who'd meet whom behind the bike shed for clumsy kisses – that wasn't real, that wasn't dating. And then Joe. And dance halls and fumbles up against the barn door when her father wasn't looking. Stealing away into the night without her parent's permission.

Not really dating. Not getting to know somebody. And, actually, when she thought on it, she did want to get to know him. To know more than she already did, anyhow.

The ring of her phone startled her and she cursed Anna for messing about with it. Her daughter had lovingly changed the settings so that every time it was her calling the phone would scream at Elsie, "Answer the bloody phone!" in a high-pitched and, frankly, terrifying voice.

"This ringtone!" She complained as she answered.

Anna laughed, bright and clear on the other end. "How's England?"

"Fine. Quiet. Sunny at least. How's Greece?"

"Boiling. It's great! I'm ringing you from the beach, as a lie back on my sun lounger."

"Ha bloody ha. Don't let anyone see you've got a good phone, you might not have it for long."

"Oh god, mum!" Anna laughed. "I'm not seventeen."

"I know." She'd slipped her bracelet off and was twirling it in her hand as they talked. "So, something happened today."

"Oh?"

"I think… I mean, it must be, really, it can't not be."

"Mum… Spit it out."

"I think I've been asked out on a date." She said tentatively, surprised by the shaking of her voice.

"What?! That's fantastic!"

"You think so?"

"I know so. Who asked you out?"

"The man who runs the book shop in town that I use, Carson's, you've been, I took you there to order all your University texts."

"You did, I remember. I'm trying to picture the guy – tall, wasn't he?"

"Yes, I suppose so." She sighed. "I feel a little silly about it."

"Why? Just enjoy it mum. Be nice to get out, won't it? Do something with your summer rather than sit in that flat."

"You make me out a total loser." She heard Anna smile. "Alright, I know! Anyhow, I said yes, so that's it, I'm going. We'll see how it goes."

"How could he not totally love you, you're fabulous! And pretty hot too."

"Anna!"

"Just saying mum, you've still got it."

"I'm putting the phone down now and going home, text me tomorrow won't you, let me know you're okay."

"Will do. Bye mum."

"Bye darling."

_Still hot indeed!_ She chewed on her nail as she thought that point over. _Still hot._ Was that what Charles might think? Might he want… might he expect… No. Not on the first date, he was a gentleman after all.

* * *

**August 2016**

**Two days before the wedding**

Carrying a tray of blackberries into the kitchen, Elsie paused to toe off her boots by the back door before striding across the tiled floor in just her socks. She set the tray down on the work surface (on top of the newspaper Charles had already laid out) and ignored Mary pawing at her toes – the growing kitten had a thing for socks.

"You get plenty?" Charles asked, from where he was bent by the kitchen table.

"Plenty, plenty. Enough for the cheesecake and jam. May even get a few muffins out of it."

"Nice."

She rinsed her hands, drying them on a towel and turning to watch him.

"Charles, what are you doing?" She asked, her voice incredulous as she noted his awkward position.

"Checking," he said seriously, bending even lower by the side of the table.

"Whatever for? And you'll hurt your back bending like that."

"Do you think the cutlery really goes with these plates? Or does it stick up too far from the table?"

"Does it matter?" She said, opening a cabinet to take out the flour and sugar.

"Goodness knows if we're going to get it all aligned perfectly like this – I mean, when are we going to do it, tomorrow? And will it still be the same the day after? Lying there all that time in the marquee."

"Charles." She laid her hand on his back until he stood straight again. "Honey, calm down, you're fussing."

"It's my wedding day, I can fuss."

She smiled tenderly, "Darling, it doesn't really matter. It's a low-key wedding with our party out there, in our garden," she pointed out of the window. "If the weather's as glorious as it is today we'll be in that marquee for dinner and that's it. And nobody will care how far the cutlery sticks up off the table. We'll be outside drinking champagne and dancing as the sun sets."

"That's it, it'll pour it down."

"No it won't, pessimist." She smiled, brushing her hands across his shoulders. "_I've _prayed for sunshine, so we'll get it. Don't be so doubtful."

"I can't help it. Things have gone far too smoothly, something has got to go wrong."

Her palm smoothed down and over his stomach, "It's gone smoothly because we organised it together. Have you even known two better organisers?"

He smiled, "I suppose not. And we've hardly even disagreed."

"Over the food, of all things."

"And the wedding night, I still want to take you somewhere expensive and fancy."

"And I said no. I want to spend our first night as husband and wife here, alone, in our home." She felt him wrap his arms around her. "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Actually, it's very nice. I can be sure I have a comfy bed at least." He kissed her forehead.

"And a decent shower. And we can be lazy and take our time getting ready for the drive to the airport the following day."

"Two glorious weeks in Italy with you."

"Well, one with me. We've got to make the most of that you know, bed me as often as you like in the first week, in the second I'm off limits."

"Seems a cruel thing to say to a man on his honeymoon."

"We can't be having sex when our daughter and granddaughter are in the villa!" she laughed, pulling out of his embrace. "And I'll remind you it was your idea to invite them for the week."

He watched as she moved back to her baking.

"I'm really looking forward to it, teaching Lottie to swim."

"She's not even four months old." She chuckled, sliding on her glasses to measure out the flour.

"Then she'll swim very well. Naturals aren't they, babies?"

"I guess so."

He bent beside the table again, closing one eye to scan the place setting.

"Charles, goodness, you'll have a ruler out next. Go, do something…" She waved a hand at him. "Go check the floor has gone down right in the marquee. So nobody trips and we don't get sued. I don't completely trust those guys out there not to rush it."

He dug his hands into his pockets. "Spose."

"Go. Thomas will be here soon, won't he, to help?"

Charles nodded. "Yeah. He's got some crazy ideas about decorating that tent."

"Marquee."

"Yes, that marquee. Thank god for the neighbour's field."

"Indeed. Now bugger off out there. Let me get these muffins in the oven and start on the jam. If we're going to have homemade jam with the afternoon tea I need to get on with it. No time tomorrow – flowers to pick up and arrange. Last minute decorations…"

He felt his chest tighten at the thought; a summer wedding, a celebration at their home, with afternoon tea and homemade jam and scones and champagne and a lovely meal prepared by Beryl. And his darling, darling granddaughter christened. And dancing with Elsie outdoors as the sun set and the stars filled the sky.

Yes, too perfect.

Curling his arms around her waist he kissed the back of her head, "Don't fuss, Els, it'll all come together."

"Sarcastic sod."

* * *

After spending a couple of hours arranging tables and chairs with Thomas Charles felt like his head might explode. He'd taken a stroll around the garden to cool off – the fuss that went into decoration, he'd never dreamed of the stuff.

Thank god Thomas appeared to know what he was doing and had come with a plan. Thank god Elsie had thought ahead enough to contact Thomas a couple of weeks ago with the guest list and room measurements.

In fact, give him his dues; Charles had been glad of Thomas these past few weeks. The man had a natural ability when it came to design and he was as excited as they were about the wedding. Any excuse for a party, Charles had initially put it down to, but no, he seemed as interested in the ceremony itself as he did the celebration. He'd even been the one to accompany Elsie on her dress-buying expedition – some reference to that show they both liked that Charles of course didn't understand. _Sex in New York_ – something like that, anyhow. There was a lot of dirty laughter from the pair of them whenever they had it on; he opted to stay out of the way.

"Is the music loud enough?" He complained, when he pushed open the kitchen door and found them dancing in the middle of the room.

"We're getting our practise in." Thomas said, spinning Elsie away from him before drawing her back in.

"I'm enjoying my summer. Don't be an old man." She smiled at him.

"I am an old man, dear, haven't you noticed?"

She giggled, leaning back dramatically in Thomas' arms as the song ended and the radio presenter filled the silence.

"That was fun," she said, squeezing the younger man's arm.

"Time to open that Prosecco I think, darling." He said, moving to retrieve the bottle from the fridge. "Get the glasses."

She did as he requested and took three from the cupboard.

"Smells gorgeous in here," Charles said, sitting at the kitchen table and eyeing the tray of cooling muffins.

"Don't touch," she warned, setting the glasses down in front of him.

"It's the middle of the afternoon, I can't drink, I'll be asleep."

Leaning forward, she slid her hands over his shoulders, kissing his forehead as she began to hum to the music.

"Els… Not a lot for me." He rested his hands on her hips. "I mean it."

"It's a celebration sweetheart, have fun." She glanced to Thomas filling their glasses and smiled at him before singing the words of the song. "_Honey, you can have me when you want me…_"

Thomas passed them their glasses chuckling, "Of course she knows the words."

She tapped her glass against his and they sang together, "_And you're the only one who makes me come running, cause what you got is far beyond compare_!"

"I can see I'm gonna need this!" Charles proclaimed, draining half his glass in one go. "This song seems rather risqué."

"Not for a married woman," she smiled mischievously at him before repeating the line more slowly, "_You can have me when you want me."_

He rolled his eyes at her, "Where's the dress?"

"None of your business." Thomas stated.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten it?"

"As if," Elsie laughed. "We took care of hiding that whilst you were wandering around outside."

"I needed the air after this marquee business."

"I'm eager to see your handiwork." She said, putting her glass down and tugging on his hand, drawing him to his feet.

"We just need to test out the lights, electrician was still finishing up." Thomas said, following her and holding the door ajar for Charles.

"Who knew you needed so many bloody people to set up a marquee? What with that and food and acres of flowers – costing me a bloody fortune."

Elsie glared over her shoulder at him and Thomas laughed, slapping him on the back. "Good job we know and love you, old guy."

"Isn't it just?!" Elsie agreed. "Anybody would think you didn't want to get married." She turned on the path, walking backwards down the path as she narrowed her eyes and mocked Charles, "Having second thoughts?" She teased. "Want to back out now before it's too late?"

"There she is – sassy!" Thomas said, and Charles shook his head as the pair of them laughed and headed into the marquee.

He moved close behind her once they were inside, sliding his hand over her back and around her waist as he tugged her back against him and whispered in her ear. "Nothing could be further from the truth. And you know that."

She covered his hand with hers, "I do." Then exhaled as she took in the decorations. "It's looking wonderful. Beautiful." She added, watching as Thomas fussed with the garlands hanging around the sides of the enormous tent.

"You are happy with it, aren't you?" She asked gently, tilting her head back to look at him.

"Happy doesn't come close, god knows what state I'll be in two days from now."

She turned in his arms, looping her hands at the back of his neck, "Hopefully a little merry, laughing and dancing with me."

"Sounds perfect." He bent to kiss her but paused as he heard Thomas whistle.

"Now, now, you two. No shenanigans before you've signed on the dotted line."

Laughing, Elsie turned to the younger man, clapping her hands together. "Right, come on then Laurence Lewelyn-Bowen, let's make this place glam!"

"You know it, babe!"

Charles rolled his eyes at the pair of them; they spoke a different bloody language.

* * *

**The Night Before the Wedding**

"Has he gone?" Anna asked as she let herself into the house and abandoned her overnight bag at the bottom of the stairs.

"_He _is still here." Charles said, coming up behind her carrying a tray of canapés. He leant in to kiss her cheek then bent to look at a sleeping Charlotte. "When's her feed?"

"Not for ages yet."

"More's the pity," he sighed. "Don't let your mother get too drunk." He whispered.

"Oh no, never. Scouts honour." She saluted before following him into the lounge as she sniggered.

"Hello darling," Elsie said, jumping up from the sofa to hug her daughter and take Charlotte's carrycot from her.

"You're excited." Anna stated, shrugging off her handbag.

"Impossibly so."

Charles smiled as he put the tray down and watched them.

"How's my granddaughter?" Elsie asked.

"Thankfully sleeping, she's been a bit crabby today, it's been too warm."

"Let's hope it stays that way tomorrow, I want to dance in the field." Elsie smiled, pouring Anna a glass of champagne.

"Like bloody hippies." Charles complained.

"Bugger off you, it's time you were gone."

"That's nice that isn't it? Can you believe this, Anna?"

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "She's right though, really, time for girly chat."

"What does that consist of?"

"Talking about make-up and comparing sexual experiences of course." Elsie got to her feet, handing the carrycot to Charles. "Why don't you settle her upstairs? Make sure the intercom is on."

"Yes, ma'am." But he was happy to put Charlotte to bed, maybe sing her a little song as he got his things together.

* * *

"Here, present for the bride." Beryl said, handing across a small, flat package.

"I don't need presents. Honestly Beryl, you've done enough. What with the food and –," she paused, spotting Anna refilling her champagne glass. "No more of that for me, I want to look something like decent tomorrow, not be hung-over."

"I'll have some more," Daisy said, holding her glass up.

"You will not madam." Beryl chided. "Now hush up woman, and open the present."

Elsie pursed her lips together in a smile and tore off the brown paper from the package. She turned over the small book in her hands, righting its position in her fingers as she scanned the cover. "The…Ahh! Beryl!" She gasped. "The Kama Sutra!" She slapped the book down in her lap. "As if we need this! Really." She scoffed.

"Old dog, new tricks." Beryl laughed, and Anna was giggling from where she stood by the stereo.

"He doesn't need any new tricks, believe me." Elsie giggled, taking a long drink from her champagne.

"Really?!" Beryl grinned bawdily. "Do enlighten us."

Elsie glanced at Isobel's face and found herself blushing, "Stop it! You're embarrassing me now."

"Now mother, not worried about the wedding night, are you?" Anna teased. "Do we need a birds and bees chat?"

"Ha, ha. This is my night, you know, not pick on Elsie night, but spoil the bride night."

"Sorry mother." Anna turned up the volume on the stereo and held her hand out for Elsie. "Come on, time to dance."

The evening was warm and the night air blew in through the open patio doors, their bodies casting shadows across the floor in the low lamplight as they got to their feet.

"Oooh, I love this song!" Beryl proclaimed, bouncing on her heels as the beat kicked in. "_Ooohh, push it_!" she sang loudly, and rather out-of-tune.

Elsie grabbed Daisy's hand and twirled her around as the four of them danced together in the middle of the lounge and Isobel watched from where she sat on the couch.

When Charles came downstairs, his suit-carrier draped over one arm, he stopped for a moment mid-way down and stared at the four women, gathered in a line across his lounge, their hips grinding back and forth as they moved together.

Perhaps he was biased (he knew he was) but _his_ woman seemed the best mover of them all. He was chuckling as he laid his suit over the bottom of the stairwell and went into them. When Elsie spotted him she turned, holding her hand out and beckoning in a mocking American accent, "_Ooh baby, baby. Baby, baby_!"

He folded his arms, shaking his head. "I can see I'm lucky to be leaving."

She was giggling as she leant in and kissed his cheek, leaving the dancing behind as she followed him into the hallway.

"You all ready then?"

"I am. Well, as ready as I can be. Are you?"

"I am. Beryl's on top of the food, Izzy's here to direct flowers in the morning, Anna here to dress and calm me." she bit her lip. "I shan't sleep."

"Me neither." He rested his hands on her upper arms, smoothing his palms over her bare skin, warm in the summer air. "Excited?"

"Very. You?"

"Immeasurably so. Never been happier."

She blushed, her eyes twinkling. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr Carson."

"You will. Ms Hughes." He smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Second to last time I'll say that."

"Second?" She queried.

"I might say it tomorrow, for the very last time."

"Perhaps. Maybe you can save it for when I'm really naughty."

He chuckled, "You're incorrigible." He placed a chaste kiss on her lips. "Mmm, you taste of champagne."

"Wait til you taste me tomorrow…"

"Okay, I'm going now, or I'll never leave."

"Goodnight." She squeezed his hands in hers, "Love you."

"Love you too, very, very much."

* * *

**The Wedding Day**

Charles was up early, too early, pacing the kitchen with bare feet and a lukewarm cup of tea in his hand.

"With this ring…" He muttered to himself. "Don't forget the ring," he chided. "Don't forget the box with the orders of service. Don't forget…" he stopped as his phone bleeped and put his tea down, opening the message.

'_Good morning darling. I hope you slept well. I can't wait to see you. x E.'_

He smiled broadly at the text, he wanted to call her, hear her voice, have her reassurance that it would all run smoothly. He turned his phone over in his hand, distracted as he re-read the text.

"You're up early," Richard interrupted his thoughts. "You did get some sleep, at least?"

"Morning. Yeah, I got a few hours, think the brandy helped somewhat."

Richard chuckled, pouring himself tea. "You okay?"

"A text from Elsie." He said, holding up his phone.

"And is she okay?"

"She's fine. Excited. I'd like to talk to her…" he shrugged. "Not sure we're meant to talk before the ceremony."

"You're a stickler for tradition. Just text her back. Then get some clothes on and I'll take you out for breakfast with the boys. We're not due at the church until this afternoon."

"I like how you refer to your sons as 'boys'."

"Be odd calling them 'men.' Look, I'll call Izzy, check in, alright?" He finished his tea.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Going to get a shower first." He slapped Charles' shoulder as he passed him. "Don't worry – she'll be there."

* * *

Elsie stretched in bed, lifting her arms above her head and letting her body sink into the mattress. She could hear Charlotte's morning cries somewhere in the house and she smiled at the strength of the little girl's lungs.

The bed seemed unbelievably large as she lay down the middle of it and she wondered if Charles was even awake yet. Picking up her phone from the bedside table she quickly typed out a text message, lying back and gazing at where her dress hung in its storage bag on the front of the wardrobe.

The box containing her shoes sat below, on the side she'd set out her jewellery for the day – she'd debated between the Tiffany chain he'd purchased for her in Italy and the pearl earrings from Dubai, but the decision had been made for her when Charles had gifted her with a necklace to match the treasured earrings only days ago. The earrings were precious after all, it was on the night he'd given them to her that he'd first whispered 'I love you'.

Through the curtains the sunlight illuminated the room and she thought how calm and clear the morning seemed. How at peace she felt. A far cry from her first wedding, where she'd felt rushed and ill-prepared. A normal day-dress from a shop on the high street, a registry office and a honeymoon to London for a few happy days. Charles was taking her back to the villa in Italy; the place where she'd finally told him she loved him, and they'd spend a week alone doing as they pleased before Anna and John joined them with Charlotte.

Her phone bleeped and she turned it over in her hand, smiling at the message: _'My love, I feel I've waited all my life for today – the hours can't go quickly enough... xx.'_

There was a tap against the bedroom door and she pulled herself up to sit, brushing her hair back from her face, "Come in."

"Good morning, bride to be." Beryl, with a cup of tea.

"Oh, thank you for this."

"You're welcome, it's not every day you get married. Look at all this laid out and ready to go." She turned back to face Elsie. "You nervous?"

"A little. More excited. Is Charlotte okay?"

"Just hungry. I admire you taking it easy."

"You think I should get up?"

"No. Enjoy your rest and your tea. There's no rush. Would you like some breakfast?"

"I might get some toast later. I thought I'd have a shower then come down and check on everything – he should be here with the flowers at 9:00."

"It's quarter to."

"Right, well, time for a shower then. Is Isobel up?"

"Already in the marquee dolling out instructions."

"Got to love her for that."

* * *

"Aunty Elsie!" Laurel yelled, as she ran all the way from the house down the garden and across to the marquee. Her pigtails flying behind her as she jumped into Elsie's waiting arms.

"Ahh, hello munchkin." She gripped the little girl to her and covered her face in kisses. "Missed you."

"Missed you too. Why aren't you in your big, white dress?"

"I don't want to get it dirty whilst we set up. Besides, we need to get ready together, don't we?"

"Yep. And Anna too."

"Of course."

"And baby Lottie. Where's mummy?"

"In the tent, arranging the cake. You want to see?"

Laurel nodded and Elsie let her slip from her lap and got to her feet, holding her hand as they went inside.

"Wow!" Laurel gasped. "It's like a princess castle."

Elsie laughed, watching as Laurel twirled around the dance floor.

"You be careful," Beryl warned.

"Yes mummy."

"You remember when I used to do that?" Anna whispered, coming up behind her mother.

"Oh, very clearly. Many a time I had to rub sore knees where you'd made yourself dizzy and fallen. Is Charlotte sleeping?"

"Finally. Should be fine for the ceremony though." She nudged Elsie's elbow with hers. "So, time we got you ready then?"

Anna watched as Elsie exhaled slowly, her arms folded across her middle. "I guess so. I have to admit, I'm starting to feel anxious."

"You are! I've got to carry a baby down the aisle whilst wearing heels and trying not to slip."

"Don't put horror images in my head."

Anna reached down to hold her mum's hand, "I'm really happy for you, you know. And glad you didn't put me in a giant taffeta gown."

Elsie nodded, "I did consider it, momentarily." She grinned. "And I'm happy for you too." She turned to face her, brushing the stray fringe back behind her daughter's ear. "We may have come about it in an odd way but I think we've both finally got the family we wanted."

"I think so too." She squeezed her mother's elbow. "Come on then, Mrs Carson to be. Let's get you made up."

* * *

Charles was pacing again; walking back and forth across the bottom of the church aisle, testing his shoes didn't slip as he did so.

Sunday service wasn't long over but he couldn't hang around at Richard's house anymore, he was far too nervous, far too desperate to get the whole thing started.

"Wow… eerie."

He glanced up at the sound of John's voice, watching as he carried two take-away coffees down towards him.

"What?"

"For a moment there, just a split second, you looked very much like Dad."

"Did I?" Charles folded his arms behind his back, puffing his chest out.

"You look even more like him now, what with the sun behind you… that's how he used to stand, upright on a Sunday morning in church." John took a seat in the front pew, sitting back to sip his coffee.

"Don't spill that on the tie," Charles warned. "Elsie will kill you. And me. She spent ages picking this colour. Geez, I hope those table decorations have held up. The work Thomas put in to getting the cloths right."

"I have no patience for doing that kind of thing."

"You don't say."

John laughed, "I guess we always were very different."

"There's eighteen years between us and a country. We were never going to be the same." He sat down beside him, gratefully accepting his coffee. "I am glad you're here."

"I'm flattered you asked me to be best man."

"Tough choice. What with Richard and Thomas too… well," he shrugged. "You're my brother. And that's how things should be." He dug a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and spread it out, tucking it over his shirt so he could drink without worry.

"I'm happy for you Charles. Glad you found her."

"Thank you."

He watched as John squeezed his knee, "It'll all go fine, in few hours you'll be dancing with your wife."

Charles closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "And your daughter will be christened."

"All Carsons together." They both chuckled at John's words and the image they created.

* * *

Standing just outside the church Elsie paused, causing Beryl to bump into her back.

"Something wrong, love?"

"No, I…" She glanced up at the imposing building, the afternoon sun just cresting over the top. "I just need a moment."

"Alright."

Beryl glanced worriedly at Anna, who was slowly easing Charlotte out of her pram, and Bill, who held on tightly to Laurel's hand.

"You okay, mum?"

"A-ha," she nodded, closing her eyes, letting the sun warm her face, listening to her own breathing, the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

_Well I'm standing in the chapel_

_Wearing my white dress_

_I have waited for this moment_

_With tears of happiness_

_Here I leave behind my past_

_By taking the chance_

_I've finally found the right man_

"Mum?" Anna whispered by her ear. "If you're nervous about walking down the aisle on your own we can always change things. Bill can walk with you, or Thomas even."

"No, no. I'm fine with that." She opened her eyes and turned to look at her daughter. "You look very pretty, you know." She rested her hand momentarily on Anna's cheek and then dropped it to stroke the top of Charlotte's head. "We stick to the plan. Laurel in front, then you two, then me."

"You're sure?"

"Very much so, I want to do this alone."

Anna nodded, tears momentarily filling her eyes.

Tentatively, Beryl moved to help Elsie inside, spreading out the back of the dress, checking her hair and make-up one last time.

"Thank you." Elsie whispered, placing a kiss to her friend's cheek. "You've done so much for me."

"Nothing you don't deserve. Now, good luck, enjoy it."

She watched as they gave Laurel one last kiss and then disappeared inside to take their seats. Two minutes more… Charlotte gurgled as Anna rearranged her in her arms, settling her so she was facing out for everyone to see, her christening gown fell beautifully over Anna's arm.

"She's okay?"

"Perfectly content."

"Are you okay down there munchkin?"

"Yep Aunty Els, I'm ready." The little girl said excitedly, holding her flowers up in the air.

"Hold your flowers tight," Anna said reassuringly, "keep them in front of you, like we practised."

"I will."

"Okay. Ready mum?"

"Ready."

She watched them open the door, took a deep breath and licked her lips as Laurel set off down the aisle.

_Thoughts racing fast through my mind_

_As I'm gazing down the aisle_

_That my future will mend the memories_

_Torn between father and child_

_My emotions overload_

_'Cause there is no hand to hold_

_There's no shoulder here to lean on_

_I'm walking all on my own_

* * *

Women, Charles mused, had been the lifeblood of his entire life. From the strength and sheer force of will that was his mother (a single mother really, who raised him well), to his deep and lifelong friendship with Isobel. And now Anna, his daughter, coming towards him looking beautiful, carrying his granddaughter who held his heart so tightly, clutched in her little fist.

And then Elsie. Beautiful. Radiant. She looked peaceful as she walked towards him. She needed no man to hold her arm and guide her; she did this freely, independently. Her eyes never left his as she walked and he had to open his mouth to breathe, afraid if he let any tears fall now they'd last the ceremony.

Women. How odd it seemed to him that men, even in this day and age, still ruled most of the world when to him women had always been the stronger sex. The more resilient.

When she was beside him they took the final steps together and she surprised him, breaking protocol as she always did, and letting her right hand fall down beside his as she tangled their fingers together.

It was a lifeline, feeling her palm warm on his, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.

"Hello, Mr Carson," he heard her whisper as they neared Reverend Travis and he smiled, casting a quick glance to her.

"Hello, Ms Hughes."

The music ceased and they jointly smiled up at the Reverend as he began his welcome.

"_The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you."_

"And also with you," the congregation repeated.

"_God is love, and those who love live in God and God lives in them. __God of wonder and of joy: grace comes from you, and you alone are the source of life and love. Without you, we cannot please you; without your love, our deeds are worth nothing. Send your Holy Spirit, and pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of love, that we may worship you now with thankful hearts and serve you always with willing minds; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."_

"Amen." They repeated in unison.

Behind them the congregation stood and they breathed a little easier as the first hymn began.

Of course Elsie had heard the words before, she'd attended many weddings in her lifetime, Catholic, Church of England, she'd listened to the hymns and watched the exchange of statements. It wasn't until her own wedding – here and now – that the importance and validity of each sentence hit home.

As she listened to the Reverend's words, gazing up at the stained glass behind him and the image of Christ on the cross, that she was struck by how very powerful it all was.

_"__In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of __Charles __and __Elspeth__, to pray for God's blessing on them, to share their joy and to celebrate their love.__Marriage is a gift of God in creation through which husband and wife may know the grace of God. It is given that as man and woman grow together in love and trust, they shall be united with one another in heart, body and mind…"_

Charles felt Elsie's fingers in his, she still hadn't let go of his hand and he was grateful of that. They were old enough to decide how their ceremony should be done, they owed nothing but to each other.

He allowed himself a small glance in her direction as Travis continued, his words seemingly bringing together all they'd been through since they started this relationship. Since he'd first asked her out to dinner and nervously awaited her answer.

* * *

**August 2014**

Roses. He'd thought. Yellow roses. And they'd been a bugger to source. But roses appeared the epitome of romance, but red – too forward? Too cliché? So, yellow; it had always seemed to him the colour of joy, and Lord knows he was filled with joy. It was hardly imaginable, Elsie Hughes joining him for dinner. Impossible! He'd spent the past week in a state of nervous tension, imagining it was her every time the phone rang, calling to break it off.

But no. There'd been no phone call and here he was, in a taxi clutching a huge bunch of roses. Finding he couldn't quite remember his own name let alone the topics of conversation he was going to engage her with.

He'd even taken himself off shopping for a new shirt and tie and spent an age fussing anyway over which to wear on the night of the date. So silly. So childish. He'd not taken such care over anything for years; the last time he'd really debated whether a shirt and tie went together was for a job interview in his twenties. An age ago.

He glanced down at the roses; he didn't even know if she liked roses, she might hate them, some women did. She might hate yellow. He guessed she was polite enough that she'd lie whether she liked them or not.

The apartment was further out than he thought and it took longer to get there than he'd anticipated, luckily he'd set off with time to spare so it was all working out, all coming together.

* * *

In her apartment Elsie stood in the middle of her bedroom in just her underwear, on her bed there were piles of clothes.

"Nothing fits!" She complained to herself, tugging at her hair. She'd spent ages curling it – all afternoon – and now she was convinced it looked ridiculous, like she was trying too hard. She wasn't even sure what 'this' was anyway – a date? Dinner between acquaintances? Were they even friends?

Glancing at the clock she groaned in frustration, it was too late to call him and put him off. Besides she didn't want to do that, she'd hurt him, whatever they were she knew if she called off dinner she'd hurt him. And she couldn't bear to do that. He was too nice a man.

Flipping through the abandoned dresses on her bed she decided on black, that was always simple, and there was one she'd worn to Anna's graduation years ago that was good for the summer, short sleeves, flared skirt, not too tight when eating out.

Slipping it on she glanced in the mirror, turning left, then right, judging her appearance. Outside she heard a car engine and raced into the kitchen to peek through the window – a taxi, and he was getting out.

"Oh shit!" Well, the dress was staying.

Running back into the hallway she unlocked the door and raced into her bedroom, searching for shoes and jewellery.

She heard a tap on the door and a rather shaky, "Hello?"

"Come in," she called back; she only had one earring in.

Stumbling in her heels on the carpet she made her way out into the hallway, adopting an air of grace and calm. "Hi, sorry, I'm not late, not usually, I just couldn't find the back to this earring." A white lie but harmless.

He seemed flustered, eyes wide and hopeful, appreciative but silent.

She glanced at the flowers clutched tightly in his hands, "Are they for me?"

"Yes."

Roses. And beautiful ones too. They'd match the yellow cardigan she'd just picked to go with the dress.

* * *

**August 2016 – wedding day**

Charles smirked as he looked down at the yellow rose in his buttonhole; a sprig of heather for Elsie, the floral choices and arrangements had been impeccable. How nervous he'd been over that whole business, how silly.

"_The gift of marriage brings husband and wife together in the delight and tenderness of sexual union and joyful commitment to the end of their lives."_

Elsie recalled Beryl's gift and felt herself blush, there was no room for those kind of thoughts in the house of God.

"_It is given as the foundation of family life in which children are nurtured and in which each member of the family, in good times and in bad, may find strength, companionship and comfort, and grow to maturity in love."_

Behind them they heard Charlotte murmuring and many people smothered laughter as Laurel shushed her a little too loudly.

"_Marriage is a sign of unity and loyalty which all should uphold and honour. It enriches society and strengthens community. No one should enter into it lightly or selfishly but reverently and responsibly in the sight of almighty God."_

As Elsie looked at Charles' serious expression she reflected on how 'responsibly' he'd always taken their relationship. For him it had never been something entered into lightly, there'd never been a time she'd wondered whether he could really be bothered, or whether he had designs on another woman. She knew his commitment to her from the outset. The only wobble had been after his accident and by then she was so complete in her love for him that she had the strength to hold it together until he found his way again.

"_Charles and __Elspeth__ are now to enter this way of life. They will each give their consent to the other and make solemn vows, and in token of this they will each give and receive a ring. We pray with them that the Holy Spirit will guide and strengthen them, that they may fulfil God's purposes for the whole of their earthly life together."_

_Our earthly life together_. Elsie mused. She didn't like to really dwell on that side of things, how long they'd have together, sometimes she felt she'd wasted a lifetime indulging a selfish man when this dear, _dear _man was right there waiting.

Finally, they turned to face one another and she offered him a watery smile, glad he had to go first, she was sure her voice would shake when she spoke. As it was his wasn't much better and he had to pause twice to catch his breath before continuing.

She held his gaze when she made her vows, meaning each and every word with all of her heart.

"I, Elspeth May Hughes, take you, Charles Ernest Carson to be my husband. To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love and to cherish til death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow."

When he took her hand, sliding her slender fingers through his, he heard her smile and looked up to see her eyes sparkling. How beautiful she looked, the pearls dangling as she moved her head, the pursing of her lips as she tried to maintain the serious expression. The kissing part couldn't come soon enough.

"Elspeth, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit."

He pushed the simple band onto her finger as she heard him exhale, relief, joy, it was almost over, they were man and wife.

They gripped hands together, smiling openly now, as the final prayers were said.

"_God the Holy__Trinity make __you__ strong in faith and love, defend __you__ on every side, and guide __you__ in truth and peace; and the blessing of God almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be among __you__ and remain with __you__ always."_

"Amen." They said, as much to each other as to God.

"Now." Travis said joyfully, bringing his hands together. "You may kiss the bride."

She allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace, sank into the warmth and familiarity of his kiss as their family and friends clapped.

"And I do believe we have a christening to attend." The Reverend announced joyfully.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips, words for him alone. "Always."

He closed his eyes, doing his best to fight back tears as he held her for a moment longer, his face hidden from the congregation by her head as he murmured by her ear.

"I love you too. My darling wife."

* * *

It may have appeared as odd to some people, the bride and groom posing for wedding pictures with a newly christened baby in their arms, but to them it was perfect.

By the time they'd travelled back to their house the guests were already there and Beryl and Isobel had taken on hosting duties, champagne was being drunk and nibbles eaten as music played inside the marquee. Charles had originally wanted a string quartet but found it hard to find one at such late notice, he did, however, manage to locate a piper and when they stepped out of the car Elsie gasped in surprise as the sound of bagpipes filled the air.

"Did you...?" She asked as he took her hand.

"You don't mind?"

"It's lovely, so thoughtful." She took his arm and together they walked down the flower-strewn path to where their guests awaited them, Laurel skipping in front and soaking up the attention.

"Can I wear this dress forever, Aunty Elsie?" She asked, twirling around in front of them.

"I'm certain you can, munchkin."

"Yay! I'm the most beautifullest one here, with you of course."

Charles chuckled, bending to scoop the little girl up with one arm and perching her in the crook of his arm. He kissed her cheek, "Shall we get a drink Laurel, and toast your beautiful aunt?"

"Yes. I want a strawberry milkshake."

"Well, we'll see what we can do."

* * *

Later, after several glasses of champagne and a gorgeous sit-down meal, Charles found himself tapping his glass and getting to his feet. It was time for speeches. Or rather, time for _his_ speech, as they had no parents to say a few words and he'd excused John the embarrassment.

"I believe, before we start scattering after the meal and getting on with the raucous dancing, that I have the privilege, as the groom, to say a few words."

There was a round of applause as he settled himself, hands flat on the table, and glanced around the tent, the faces of his friends – Isobel and Richard, gloriously happy, the guys from the cricket club, Laura with some young man on her arm whom he'd never seen before. Relatively new friends in Beryl and Bill, Laurel on her dad's knee sucking on a lollipop (a grand idea of Elsie's that, an ice-cream cart outside for the kids), some of Elsie's colleagues, his old acquaintances from the shop-circuit. Thomas and his impossibly handsome boyfriend.

Beside him Elsie took a sip of her champagne and he glanced down at her, then Anna, John with Charlotte in his lap.

"I am the happiest and luckiest of men." He said, more to the people by his side than to the gathered congregation. Then he turned his attention back to the rest of them, "This woman, its impossible to believe, that this woman of such grace and charm and intelligence and humour – because she can be damned funny at times…"

There was laughter around the tent and he let it settle for a moment.

"That this extraordinary woman would consent to date me, let alone marry me, is a thought that surprises me every day. That she should entrust her life's happiness, her future, to my hands – well, I feel rather unworthy of it."

She looked up at him, biting her lip, one hand reaching out to grip his arm.

"My wonderful bride." He said lowly, "The woman who has changed my life. Elspeth Carson."

There was a chorus of cheers and raised glasses and she got to her feet during it, kissing him soundly and smiling at the guests as she rested her hand on his shoulder and bid him to sit.

"You know, he only used 'Elspeth' because he knows how I hate it." She chuckled. "So, I know it's not traditional that the bride speaks, and Charles hates to break with tradition, but then I've never done things the easy way."

He shook his head at her, toying with the stem of his wine glass, one arm draped over the back of her chair.

"I won't speak for long I promise; I know you're all eager to get on with the party – as am I. I just want to say a few words whilst I can… first of all, thank you to the wonderful people who helped bring this thing about at such short notice – Thomas, the Anthony to my Charlotte."

"Owitz." Thomas replied, raising his glass to her.

"And Isobel and Richard; I thought I was an organiser but Izzy, well…" She heard Charles chuckle beside her and Isobel nodded her head in agreement.

"My dearest, closest friend Beryl, who made every bit of the delicious food you've eaten here today – except for the jam, that's all me – so, go take a card with you and hire the woman. She's a genius. My gorgeous daughter, who with John has given us the most beautiful, perfect granddaughter…"

She felt Charles' hand on her back, his fingers curling into her.

"Oh goodness, I am going on now. I suppose I ought to mention this man here," she paused, sliding her hand over his broad shoulders. "He tells you all I've changed his life, but I can say quite assuredly that he's done the same for me. I love him very much and I can't quite believe I've been lucky enough to find someone so wonderful… so, as much as he wants to toast me, I want to take a moment to toast him – I'm not always forthcoming with it, but I'm emotional and tipsy today so what the hell!" She laughed. "To Charles Carson, my husband."

* * *

Elsie stood in the middle of the polished floor on her own, turning as she scanned the room for her new husband, glad of her classroom experience of handling attention as guests milled around the edge of the dance floor watching her.

"He's trying to get out of it," Beryl shouted from the side-lines.

Elsie dramatically placed her hands on her hips and pouted as he finally emerged from the crowd, a glass of something in his hand being quickly passed to a well wisher as he rushed to her.

"Come on, we can't get the dancing going if we don't get this out of the way."

"Sorry, was chatting."

She shook her head at him as he slid a little on the floor and caught hold of one of her hands in his. He looked so gloriously happy; in fact she couldn't recall ever seeing him grin quite so much.

"Hi honey," she said softly as his arm slid around her back. "Okay?"

"Very much so. Apart from being the centre of attention right now."

"Four minutes and it'll be over." She leant in closer whispering in his ear, "And no, that's not a prelude for tonight."

He was sniggering as he kissed her forehead, turning slowly as the music swept into the room.

_I know he's around when the sky and the ground started ringing,_

_I know that he's near by the thunder I hear in advance,_

_His words-his words alone-are the words that can start my heart singing,_

_And his is the only music that makes me dance._

More couples joined them after a couple of minutes and she tilted her face up to him, "You know, I have a gift for you."

"You do? More than this?"

"Hard to believe, but yes, more than this."

He noted the twinkle in her eyes, how bright they looked, on pictures sometimes they appeared dark, in fact when he first met her he thought them brown. But she had the deepest blue eyes, bright and clear. He slipped his hand down her back, feeling the curve of her spine beneath the silk of her dress. "Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?"

She smiled, "Once or twice in the car on the drive back here. But I don't mind you repeating yourself."

He laughed, "Good thing, it's my age you see."

"So, your gift?"

"Go on…"

"This little patch of field we've borrowed for today."

"Hmm…?"

"Well, I happen to have made enquiries about purchasing it."

His mouth opened, she was nothing if not surprising. "Oh?"

"Hmm, it seems logical, it's attached to our garden, we can take down the fence, move it to widen the border."

"Put in the pool I keep thinking about?"

She could already sense the giddiness in him, "Well, no, I was thinking more along the lines of…flowers…."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Flowers?"

"Sunflowers," she bit her lip endearingly. "Perhaps."

His lips pressed together in a tight smile, "Ahh, good plan Mrs C."

"Oh, but that's the first time you've called me that."

"You know, if I call you Mrs H-C, you sound like a sauce."

"A rival to HP perhaps."

"Now we're just being silly."

"I think we're allowed." He twirled her and her dress skimmed the floor as she leant her head back, giggling at the rush of adrenaline to her stomach.

_He'll sleep and he'll rise, in the light of two eyes that adore him._

_Bore him it might, but he won't leave my sight for a glance._

_In every way, every day, I need less of myself and need more him-more him,_

_'Cause his is the only music that makes me dance._

"So, how far have these plans got?"

"You know I wouldn't commit to anything without you, but I've done all the leg work, we have the forms, I've negotiated a price with the owner."

"Quite the plotter, aren't you, Elspeth?"

"Aren't all women? All we have to do is sign. But I'll let you read through it all first, and yes, I used your Mr Murray for the legal stuff."

"I'm impressed. A field of sunflowers – whatever would we use it for?"

"I have no idea."

He smiled at the mischief in her eyes, "Can I ask?"

"I'm sure you can."

"Where's your something blue?"

"Oh, but that's for you to find out later."

"Minx. You know, I've rather been plotting myself."

"Oh… you have, have you?"

"A-ha, should I tell you now…?"

She was about to answer in the affirmative but paused as Thomas approached them, his hand resting on Elsie's back, "Ready to relinquish your hold on her and let someone else have a dance with Sadie then, groom?"

"Sadie? This is another reference I don't get."

Elsie touched his face, "We're dancing to Streisand, darling, Funny Girl – Sadie, Sadie, married lady."

"This is why I could never do a quiz show." He leant in to kiss her cheek. "Maybe I'll go find my daughter to dance with."

"She'd like that." Elsie said as Thomas drew her into an elaborate waltz.

Charles self-consciously dug his hands into his pockets as he crossed the dance floor to where Anna stood at the side bouncing Charlotte.

"Hello." He said, leaning over to tickle Charlotte's chin.

"Hello, Daddy dear."

"Goodness, I'm not quite sure who you're talking about when you say that."

"Get used to it." She kissed his cheek. "It's official now."

She handed Charlotte over to him and he twirled the baby in his arms, watching her delighted expression.

"So, I was wondering if you'd like to dance?" He said to Anna.

"Oh, I'd love that. You'd have to part with Lottie though."

"Painful," he placed a kiss to the baby's head. "Isn't it sweetheart? Have you enjoyed your christening day, hmm, have you?"

"John's going to take her home soon, we've agreed I get to stay, as you're _my_ parents and only his half-brother."

Charles laughed, "We're certainly prime material for a talk show, aren't we?"

"Oh no, you're far too well-spoken for Jeremy Kyle. Lorraine?" She shrugged, "maybe."

* * *

As the afternoon wore on the intimate party spread outdoors enjoying the bright August sunshine as they ate, drank and chatted. The wedding cake, a gift from the Masons, was cut and relished as guests sprawled in the garden. Children ran freely around the extended garden making the most of the free ice cream.

It wasn't an expensive or elaborate affair, but quaint, warm and filled with happiness.

Families began to disappear as the evening wore on; the grown-ups took over the dance floor, Elsie kicked off her shoes and sashayed around with Anna – who was a little glad to be off parenting duties for the evening and making the most of the free bar – and Charles politely excused himself, sitting outside and working his way through a bottle of brandy with whomever chose to join him.

It was after one before the majority of guests had made their goodbyes, taxis were called, and Elsie wandered barefoot from the marquee to find her new husband enjoying the English summer evening.

"Hello," she smiled at him, her hair loose around her shoulders now after being pinned up all day.

"Hi gorgeous, had enough dancing?"

"My feet are killing me," she sank into his lap, one arm looped about his shoulders as the other took his brandy glass from him and took a sip of the amber liquid.

"Where's my wife?" Richard asked from his slumped position in the lounger across from them.

"Last time I saw her she was packing wedding cake to take with you. I told her to take it to the club as we won't be here. Are you a little intoxicated, Doctor Clarkson?"

"Rather a little, Mrs Carson." He raised his glass at her.

"And what about you," she squeezed Charles' shoulders, "how drunk are you?"

"Minor, minor drunk is all." He said with a chuckle, pinching two fingers together to emphasise how little he'd supposedly drunk. "You seem to have danced your alcohol off."

"I'm exhausted." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Such a wonderful day."

"Perfect." He nudged her nose with his. "You married me."

"I did indeed." She smiled. "Have you seen Anna? She disappeared a while ago."

Richard indicated the swinging hammock with a nudge of his chin, "Think Princess had one too many."

"Oh dear lord, how's she going to get home?"

"We'll take her." Richard offered. "She can share in our taxi, I'll make sure she gets in alright."

"Thank you." Elsie settled her head against Charles' chest, "I'm ready for bed," she whispered, tiredly.

* * *

Charles crawled into bed as the grandfather clock in the hall struck two. He was settled back against the piled up pillows patiently waiting for his wife to join him. When she emerged from the bathroom her wedding dress was gone, her make-up removed and her hair tied back from her face.

"Hello." He said gently.

"Hi," she paused at the bottom of the bed, watching him, "you look relaxed."

"Incredibly."

"Or should I say tired?"

"It is late and funnily enough I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Me neither."

"Worried I won't be able to consummate this whole thing?"

"Thing?" She giggled, "This _thing_?"

"You know what I mean, so where'd you hide the blue?"

"Ahh, you think I can show you now?"

"I think you should share, in the matter of interest."

Smiling coyly, she stood back, drawing up the silk camisole she'd worn beneath her dress and revealing the stark white lace of her underwear. "I went traditional, see, suspenders and garter belts."

He licked his lips, "My, my, you did." He sat up straighter in the bed. "Just erm. You know, just twirl a little for me."

"I will not. But you may notice that my garter has blue ribbon – in the matter of interest."

"Want me to help you take it off?"

"Take it off?" She knelt on the edge of the bed, "You mean you don't want me to keep these on?"

He reached a hand forward to rest on her knee, "You'll kill me."

"I wouldn't want to do that, not as we've only just married. It might look suspicious."

"Come here, teasing wife."

She smirked, "What a turn of phrase." But his beckoning hand convinced her to play along.

Crawling over the bed she straddled his legs, her torso pressing comfortably against his.

"Nice to be alone with you," she whispered before kissing him deeply.

Breathless he tilted his head back, sighing happily. "How many times can I call you Mrs Carson and still find it thrills me?"

"It thrills you…?" She wiggled her hips a little against him, "_You're my thrill_." She sang in a whispered voice, "_You do something to me. You send chills right through me_."

He chuckled as she placed kisses down his neck, taking her time; her palms warm as they moved over his chest.

"Never been serenaded before." He tiptoed his fingers up her back, over the silky camisole, the fastening of her bra.

"You've never been married before."

"Mmm," his hand slid into her hair and lifted his mouth to hers, leaning forward as they kissed, their bodies pressed together at every point they could.

How many times had he worshipped her body now? How many times had he marvelled at the softness of her skin, at the sighs that escaped her when he kissed her neck, or tickled that spot behind her knee? At the way her breasts fit perfectly in his hand or how her back arched at a particular touch?

It could never be enough. He thought of his vows from earlier in the day – words promising worship and unity and loyalty. Of being one to face whatever life threw at you. Whatever came their way they'd always have each other now. He knew logically they'd had that for a while, but this was different, the world knew it, they'd made that vow to each other in the sight of God and family and friends.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life." He whispered to her between kisses.

Her eyes shone and she rested her hands on his face, her thumbs brushing his cheeks as she looked at him, "My husband."

Gently, she extracted herself from his embrace he watched reverently as she unclipped the garter belt.

"You are trying to kill me…"

"How's the heart?"

"Full to bursting." He got to his knees on the bed, lifting her foot up in front of him. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

He was reminded of a night in his flat, after their break-up, after their reconciliation, where she'd stood in front of him in black stockings and appeared the sexiest woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Here she seemed the most beautiful, most precious, sexiest woman he'd ever laid eyes on!

"What's the smile about?" She asked, her head tilted to one side, watching as he ran his hands up her legs and to the tops of her stocking, his fingers just grazing the exposed skin of her thighs.

"Just reflecting on how lucky I am."

"You know, I did buy new nightwear especially for this, our wedding night, but it seemed a shame for you not to get a glimpse of the bridal underwear."

"Save it for the honeymoon."

"You intend to dress…?" She smirked mischievously.

He kept his eyes on hers as he rolled the first stocking down her leg, taking his time, using his thumb to brush along her skin as he moved down. Then laying the flimsy material aside he went back to the top of the other leg.

"Have you practised this, Mr Carson?" She said lowly.

"I may have dreamt of it a few times."

"Be gentle with me, I'm in virginal white."

"You're…." he shook his head, laughing.

"I'm…?" She placed her hands heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, shifting her now bare legs back.

"Completely and utterly overwhelmingly wonderful."

"Don't forget happy," she said, kissing his forehead tenderly. "Overwhelmingly happy."

She felt him hook his thumbs around the lacy waistband of her panties and ease them down, and she returned the favour, pushing his underwear down as she bent to kick her own off.

"Are these groom boxers?"

"They're new, if that counts."

They were giggling as she straddled his lap again, pressing together as Charles flopped back on the bed.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he said, between kisses.

"And I you."

* * *

Later, they sat facing each other on the bed, the shadowy candlelight flickering upon their skin. Elsie in just her silk camisole, her hair mussed and curled, Charles naked, languid and flushed with pleasure.

"Here we go," Elsie said, filling the champagne flutes Charles held out.

"Careful," he said, as a little of the bubbles dripped onto his hand.

"Toast?" She took one of the glasses from him, tapping the top of it against his, "to us."

"Yes," he took a sip of the intoxicating liquid. "And how much I love you."

"Mmm," she leant forward momentarily and kissed him. "Promise to tell me that every day?"

"Without fail."

She sat back against the piled up pillows, her legs folded beneath her, Charles' long legs were either side of her body.

"How much champagne have you drunk over the past few days?" He asked, teasingly.

"I'm in a celebratory mood."

"Good job we bulk bought."

"That was an excellent idea, darling." She tickled the bottom of his foot until he was squirming. "So, best part of the day?"

"The part we've just shared was pretty nice."

"Charles…"

"Watching you walk down the aisle towards me." He paused for a moment, letting them both replay it. "And for you?"

"The vows, actually, I was really moved. And you know the church business isn't usually for me. Ooh, and I rather enjoyed watching you slip the ring onto my finger." She waggled her hand in the air. "Where it's going to stay."

She moved her leg, nudging her heel into his chest and watching as his hand circled her ankle and he bent his head to kiss the top of her foot. He kept his eyes on hers as she emptied her glass, the wonderful, sweet dizziness that comes with alcohol hitting the blood taking over again.

Her glass was put aside and she slipped the camisole up over her head, throwing it at him and giggling before crawling the short distance between them, her hands pressing into his upper thighs as she pressed open-mouthed kisses to his chest and neck before moving her mouth over his.

For a second she knelt over him like that, kissing him softly, lovingly.

When she pulled back he moaned audibly, but then she was turning, her hands on his bidding him to move with her.

He knelt behind her, kissing the back of her neck, shifting her hair to one side, feeling her bottom press into his groin.

"Hi, beautiful." He whispered by her ear, and she turned her head so they could kiss.

She gasped when she felt the first drops of champagne slide between her breasts, but he was pulling her back against him, his fingers following the trail of the alcohol, and then moving, his body curling around hers so he could lick the droplets away, suckling on her nipples until she was writhing against him and moaning.

Languid and dreamy Elsie lay forward, pressing her chest against the soft pillows – they smelled of Charles and she buried her face in them, breathing in his scent as she felt his body warm over hers.

His mouth on her shoulder blades, fingertips ticking her waist, one knee nudging between her legs, hushed, breathy words, "Elsie…" Her name like a mantra, a balm, "Elspeth."

She reached one hand up on the pillow, scrunching her fingers into it and feeling Charles' large hand spread over hers. It was shallow at this angle, soft and gentle, but they took their time – they had all the time they wanted now, an entire summer, a lifetime.

Elsie pressed up back against him, hips rolling back and forth. She turned their hands over, holding his tight beneath hers.

"Charles…" She gasped, head thrown up as the word escaped her mouth.

"My darling… I love you," he shuddered against her, "I love you."

"Mmm, I… honey, I want…." She pushed her shoulders up, until he eased back, lifted his body slightly from hers until she could turn. Her legs hooking up around him, thighs welcoming him as he moved above her, deeper this time, complete.

When she was gasping his name he slowed, making it last, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and committing it to memory. The feel of her heart pounding against his, her hands grasping at his body, her sighs and whispered declarations of love.

He felt like time had slowed and gathered in the space between them, the air was warm, fragrant, tangent with the power of what he felt for her. There was nothing more important, nothing more consuming.

The two of them together. How it was meant to be.

* * *

Cuddled together, bodies wrapped around each other, they lay in silence as the long night tiptoed into the early hours of the morning.

Elsie watched as Charles lifted her hand, his thumb stroking her wedding band before he folded his fingers with his.

"You know you've changed my life." He said, pressing a kiss to her head.

"And you mine. Every bit of it."

"You'll make me get sentimental."

"No better time for it." She snuggled impossibly closer to him. "I didn't know what love was until you."

"God knows that's the truth, I'm not sure I used my heart until you."

"Honey," she smiled, leaning her head over slightly to kiss whichever part of him she could – his upper arm, his chest. "So, you've made secret plans and you're not telling me." She said gently, her eyes heavy with fatigue and pleasure.

"A-ha, you mean like you made plans for the field and the sunflowers without telling me…"

She giggled, one of her hands sliding down the side of his body, they hadn't stopped touching – it seemed – from the moment they'd clasped hands at the altar. "Yes, but I happen to think you'll get enjoyment from that too."

"Oh, I'm quite sure of it."

"So?"

"So…?"

"Don't tease me, what are the plans you've made?"

"It's just a holiday I was considering. Think of it as a second honeymoon, if you like"

"_Okay_. We've not even had the first honeymoon yet."

"You'll like it."

"Is it a cruise?"

"Of course not. We said we'd do that when retired." He stroked his hand down her spine until she shivered against him.

"Charles…" She pressed.

"Alright. I've booked us another trip to Dubai."

She smiled broadly. "A fitting choice."

"Of course. Best hotel too, at the Palms."

"That's _so _expensive."

"It will be worth it."

"How exciting, and when will we be taking this expensive trip?"

"Easter break. Of course."

* * *

**November 1998**

Outside it was icy, autumn was definitely on its way out and in its place the sting of winter – all crisp, fresh mornings and long, dark nights.

Charles had spent the morning trying to measure for new blinds, his mother had insisted they take the old ones down and get them cleaned but he rather hoped he could convince her to opt for brand new ones instead.

He'd just climbed down from the wobbly ladder, there were a handful of customers meandering around and Violet had disappeared upstairs to make tea – he wondered if he'd get a mug.

The bell on the door chimed as it opened and a female customer came in, almost knocking him off of his feet as he'd folded the stepladder. He was about to chide her for her clumsiness when the door shut and she'd jerked back against it.

Her scarf was trapped in the door, tangled around her neck and shoulders and pinning her back with it.

"Goodness," she gasped, tugging at it, her cheeks flushing.

He leant the ladders against the window and rushed to help her, opening the door and gently extracting her scarf from its clutches.

"There you go." He said, still fussing with it as she spoke.

"Thank you so much, that could have been rather deadly," she had the most delicious Scottish accent, light, lilting, rolling over her words. He slowly looked up to her face.

"I saw a film once," she continued, "where a woman died because her scarf got caught in the wheels of a car and strangled her."

She sounded frantic, breathless, and he wondered momentarily – as she laughed at her own statement – that perhaps she was a little eccentric.

He opened his mouth to speak, but stumbled for a moment, yes, she might have been eccentric but she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen up close.

"Well…how awful." He plumped for, struggling for an appropriate response.

"Wouldn't it be?" She smiled at him, a full smile, eyes glistening – at first he thought her eyes dark, now he realised they were the brightest, alluring blue.

"Charles Carson," he'd said then, clumsily holding his hand out, feeling his pulse quicken.

She'd seemed surprised by the move, but to her credit only paused for a second before taking hold of his warm hand in hers, their palms connecting for the first time.

"Elsie Hughes."

'_**And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.'**_

* * *

_Songs mentioned:_

_Honey - M. Carey  
_

_Push It- Sat and Pepa_

_The Right Man – C. Aguilera_

_The Music That Makes Me Dance – B. Streisand_

_You're My Thrill – J. Mitchell_

_And Shakespeare, of course, because he's the best._

_So, there we have it – __**The End!**__ Thank you __**SO**__ much for all the support with this, it's been a pretty wonderful journey…. Will we ever catch up with them in the future? Maybe, we'll see. xx R_


End file.
